


I See You Through the Starlight

by Owl_girl04



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: A different type of magic than carry on, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Arguments, Arranged Marriage, Ballroom Dancing, Baz is stuck between a rock and a hard place, But still magical, But the slow burn is still there, City Festival, Engagement, Family Drama, Festival, Funny, Hampshire, M/M, Magic-Users, Medieval, Music, Musician! Baz, Parade, Partner Magic, Penny is here because I love her, Prince! Baz, Prince! Simon, Royal Engagement, Royalty, Serenade, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Treason, Updated weekly, Watford (Simon Snow), Wedding Planning, baz being treasonous, not too bad, sometimes i get secondary embarrassment from them, violin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25114948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owl_girl04/pseuds/Owl_girl04
Summary: Watford Castle is playing host to a delegation from Hampshire, and Prince Simon is certain they aren't visiting to improve relations like they say. He's especially suspicious of their Crown Prince, Baz. But when Hampshire proposes a marriage in order to create an alliance once and for all, Simon doesn't know what to think anymore.Prince Baz went to Watford with a mission. He was assured that his task would be complete long before he'd ever have to follow through with his engagement to Prince Simon. That was just a distraction while his family collected information on Watford and planned its downfall. But when Watford is better than he ever expected, Baz starts to have second thoughts about destroying it and its golden prince.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 19
Kudos: 46





	1. A Plethora of Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I'm back at it again with a Royal AU, and because I freaking love magic, I sort of created my own world to make this possible. So... don't question it too much and just enjoy it (please?). And yes, the chapter titles are going to be fancy, because this is my guilty pleasure story. Anyway, this is mostly to satisfy my craving for two princes to fall in love. (And to see Baz fall in love with Watford as much as Simon has.) I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it :)

As Simon read the letter that had slid under his door earlier that morning, a cold pit began to open in his stomach. He read the short message over once more, just to make sure he wasn’t mistaken, before crumpling it into a small ball and tossing it into the fireplace grate. Even though it was midsummer and the windows were thrown open to let in Watford’s famous buttery sunshine, Simon snapped his fingers. A small spark of magic floated down onto the waiting tinder and flames sprouted.

The letter was gone in seconds, and its message, that a delegation from Hampshire was arriving this very afternoon, disappeared with it. Simon watched the flames dance and let his thoughts wander.

Hampshire and Watford had been rivals, sometimes even enemies, ever since Watford’s head Mage had risen into power. To an outside observer, welcoming their delegation into Watford showed a desire to mend the rift between the two countries. But Simon knew better, and he was sure the Mage did as well. Hampshire was known for its old-fashioned beliefs about magic. In their country, any magic outside of the courts was forbidden. In Watford, magic was welcome everywhere. Simon himself was an example of that. He had been born outside the court, his magical potential unexplainable. He was such a powerful magician that the Mage had named him his heir since he had no children of his own.

Simon was thankful for all the Mage had done for him, and he loved Watford and its mantra on the importance of possibility. He knew that one day he would be in charge of the flourishing country, but that seemed so far away that it seemed preposterous to consider it.

A knock on the door startled him from his thoughts.

“Your Highness? Are you in there?” A servant was standing outside his door, most likely sent to summon him to the receiving drive. That was where Hampshire’s delegation would make their entrance. His presence would be required.

Simon exhaled slowly, letting go of the small magic required to keep the fire burning in front of him. He was always more careful with his magic than other magicians; he found it harder to control. When he had complained to the Mage about his struggle, years ago now, he had simply told Simon it was most likely because of the enormous potential for magic Simon possessed. He advised him to practice to try and take the edge off, but that hadn’t worked. Nothing had.

“Yes,” Simon called, making sure his voice could be heard through the thick wooden door.

“Your presence is requested at the receiving drive, by order of the Mage.”

Simon stood and dusted off his dark purple dress pants, straightened his emerald green tailcoat, and made sure to grab his crown from the table near the door. Its spirals of gold filament and star-cut diamonds made it so heavy that he only bothered to wear it during more formal meetings and dinners.

He made it to front gates quickly, having mastered the art of navigating Watford Castle’s maze of halls long ago. The Mage was already there, surrounded by his Men, who were all in their formal attire. Normally they avoided wearing their knee-length purple coats and green cravats; Watford’s balmy climate made anything more than the simplest tunic and pants almost unbearably stifling. But they all had to look their very best to impress their guests.

Simon came to a stop next to the Mage just as the front gates began to creak open and a trumpet flourish sounded. A music mage stood off to the side, his eyes closed in concentration. The flourish played again, magically magnified so it echoed throughout the entire castle. All of the residents of Watford’s Court would hear it and know visitors had arrived.

The Hampshire delegation rolled onto the receiving drive, making slow progress towards where they were standing. It was made up of a dozen guards on horses, two carriages of people, and one lagging carriage that seemed to be full of luggage.

A herald hopped down from the driver’s seat of the first carriage and bowed deeply before the Mage. “Your Majesty, I present to you the delegation from Hampshire.” The Mage nodded and the herald rose, gesturing as individuals began to spill out from the carriages and dismount from their horses.

“Her Highness, Princess Fiona Pitch.” A young woman ascended the stairs towards them. Even from a distance, Simon could see the cleverness in her dark eyes and noted the single streak of gray woven into the elaborate braided style of her hair. Everything about her was commanding and harsh, from her purposeful walk to her long, dark dress of deep purple silk and black lace. She nodded to the Mage and halted at the top of the stairs, waiting for the rest of her party.

“Lord Devin Pitch.” A dark-haired man, also clothed in black and purple, ascended the steps.

“Lord Niall Preston.” Simon was beginning to sense a pattern. Their entire delegation seemed set on matching with each other, all the way down to their ebony hair. He allowed himself to daydream a bit as the introductions continued until finally--

“His Highness, Crown Prince Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.” Simon’s eyes widened as he took in the young man slowly drawing near. He seemed to be moving in slow-motion, apparently content to let the entire assembly admire him as he moved. And Simon did admire him. With his carefully manicured hair, so dark it seemed to absorb the light, his handsomely-crafted face, his perfectly proportioned physique… Simon was completely convinced it was a glamour.

When he finally stopped and positioned himself near Princess Fiona, he was close enough that Simon could feel his magic. It was hot and almost spicy, so the back of his throat seemed to sting if he breathed too deeply. If he was glamouring himself, which it was clear he had the magic to do, it was only to distract from his aura of power.

“Welcome, Your Highnesses, good Lords and Ladies of Hampshire,” the Mage proclaimed. He raised his arms to encompass their whole group. “We are honored to play host to such significant members of the Hampshire High Court. I hope this visit is the beginning of a beneficial friendship. Please accept my invitation to begin exploring all Watford has to offer at our celebratory welcoming ball tonight. It will begin in about four hours, which is enough time for our servants to show you all to your rooms.” He turned and headed back inside, Simon doing his best not to stumble to keep up with his long strides.

What seemed like an army of servants was indeed waiting just inside to escort the Hampshirians to their various suites in the guest hall. The controlled procession of lords and ladies soon dissolved into a herd of people as servants rushed to find the bags belonging to each individual. Each maid and butler greeted their newcomer and tried to make pleasant conversation, but Simon soon observed that the nobles offered only their stony silence in return.

“Your Highness, was there something you needed?” Simon snapped his gaze away from Lord Devin, whose face was pinched as a young servant girl offered him a narrated tour of the palace, to look at the maid who was standing in front of him.

He realized he was the only member of the Watford welcoming party still remaining in the entrance hall and felt his face heat. “Oh, no, thank you.” He smiled once more at her, a polite dismissal. She curtsied and scurried away.

Simon knew he was behaving strangely, and should just head back to his rooms to dress for the evening’s ball, but he couldn’t seem to pull away. His suspicion, that the Hampshire delegation was bringing trouble, not friendship, was solidifying more and more in his mind as he watched their aloof behavior. None of them uttered a single word of thanks to the beleaguered servants rushing to and fro with their bags. Their dark clothing and chilly expressions didn’t exactly scream friendship, either.

Finally, he shook his head, trying to dismiss his dark thoughts, and made his way back to his room.

~

“I want you to be cautious when interacting with the visitors,” the Mage said. He was waiting with Simon in a small chamber as a few maidservants bustled around them, making final adjustments to their attire.

Simon nodded as another medal was pinned to the breast of his tailcoat. “I doubt their intentions already, sir. Their Crown Prince in particular. They must be up to something.”

“I agree, which is why I want you to minimize the time you spend with them. Do not seek any of them out, especially Prince Tyrannus,” the Mage directed. He stepped forward and Simon followed, so they were both positioned before the grand double doors. When those doors swung open, they would descend the stairs to the dinner table on the balcony overlooking the hall below. The Hampshire delegation was already seated there, with the court scattered among various tables on the many other balconies that ringed the enormous ballroom.

“But sir, I could help you--”

“No,” the Mage interrupted. He frowned, still staring resolutely at the doors. “You will leave this to me and my Men. We will figure out Hampshire’s true intentions.”

“Wait, sir--” Simon tried, but the Mage cut him off with a sharp look.

“That is _enough_ , Prince Simon.” The Mage indicated that the waiting butlers should open the doors and Simon fell silent.

The doors swung open, the royal fanfare sounded, and the Mage entered. Simon waited until he had taken a few steps before following. As Crown Prince, he always stayed behind the Mage during formal entrances. They were both announced and the entire court stood and bowed or dropped into curtsies. Everyone stayed in their various positions until the Mage reached his seat at the head of the royal table and sat. Simon slid into the chair on his right. He couldn’t help but feel slightly uncomfortable as he did so; Prince Tyrannus was seated directly beside him.

“Enjoy the feast,” the Mage proclaimed, and the hum of conversation filled the hall.

Simon was eager to follow the order and began ladling various dishes onto his plate. After a moment of hesitation, Prince Tyrannus did the same.

Simon had cleared his plate by the time he realized the prince was probably seated next to him because they were supposed to be making conversation. Ignoring the Mage’s previous warning, he turned to the prince.

“Is Watford to your liking, Prince Tyrannus?” Simon asked.

“Prince Baz is fine,” the Crown Prince said, his tone slightly snappish. “And Watford is very different from Hampshire, so I haven’t yet decided whether it is to my liking.”

“How so?” Simon asked.

“What?” Baz’s brow furrowed.

“Hampshire isn’t all that far from here. It can’t be that much different.”

“Not in… climate, maybe,” Baz said, “But Watford’s people and practices are very different. For example, when dining at our High Mage’s table, we would not be speaking out of turn like we are now.”

“Oh.” Simon frowned, wondering if Baz had meant the statement to be demeaning. “Our court appreciates having more freedom of expression.”

“That is _quite_ obvious,” Baz agreed, his gaze sweeping over the court assembled below them. They were all dressed in their finest, in a rainbow of color. Laughter echoed from many of the tables and music mages stood in the corner, their hands fluttering through the air to pull melodies from the aether.

Simon realized that all of the nobles from Hampshire were still dressed in their dark uniforms. They stuck out like a sore thumb. Watford Castle itself was light and breezy, full of creamy marble and gold accents. Black clothing seemed out of place, almost entirely inappropriate in such a setting.

Once all of the dinner courses had been consumed, the Mage stood again to speak to his guests. Simon followed him to the edge of their table’s balcony, where a small gate swung open to admit them past the railing. “Before dessert, let us commence with the traditional entertainment! I dedicate tonight’s magic to our guests.”

The Mage’s magic danced around his fingertips as he created a staircase of silver cables for Simon and him to descend. Every guest in attendance would be expected to use their own magic to get to the dance floor below if they wished to join in the festivities. Simon had seen air magic used to float down, giant ball gown skirts ballooning. He had seen water pulled from drinking glasses hardened into slides of ice. He had even seen white-hot fire and steam jetted out of the soles of someone’s shoes. Half of the fun of a Watford ball was watching the assembled magicians show off.

But before that all commenced, the magical entertainment was provided. Since the welcoming ball was so important, the Mage himself would be demonstrating his talents. Simon would be his partner, as most aesthetic magic required a duo to perform.

They positioned themselves in the center of the marble floor. The remaining music and chatter hushed as Simon and the Mage both raised their arms, palms up. Simon closed his eyes, loosening his grip on his magic, and bracing himself for the Mage’s. In a synchronized motion, they brought their palms together, power blasting out in a radius around them.

Simon’s magic was like a leashed lion, always struggling away from him, towards freedom. Simon feared if it ever managed to slip his carefully crafted leash he might leave the palace in cinders. As he stood, his face a mask of calm, sweat beaded along his hairline.

Doing magic with the Mage was even worse. Partner magic was meant to be a bonding, and if your magic was compatible, it was even said to be enjoyable. But for Simon, it was like trying to shove his leashed lion into an even smaller cage.

His thoughts must have spilled into the illusion they were creating, because suddenly beads of red light began to appear around the hall, poised like raindrops about to fall. The Mage exhaled and the drops coalesced, turning into fiery red steamers that danced through the air. Their movement and shape became faster and more purposeful, and then a great, blazing lion was striding through the air. It roared, the sound loud enough to cause the dinner settings to clatter. The court clapped appreciatively as the lion ran around the hall, jumping from balcony to balcony. With each jump, it began to divide, until five identical lions prowled through the air.

Simon felt the sweat from his forehead begin to slide down his face. His magic wasn’t draining him… instead, it seemed to be straining for him to let more of it go. The Mage must’ve seen his fleeting panicked expression because the lions suddenly leaped towards the center of the room. They all collided and exploded in a dazzling display of sparks. The crowd applauded and Simon felt the magic he had used fade. Immediately, more power flooded into his chest, replacing the amount that had met a fizzling end. He shoved it down it time to hear the Mage command the music and dancing to begin.

The ceiling of the ballroom was soon invisible, hidden by a layer of smoke, steam, and color, as well as a few unpoppable bubbles; all of it was remnants of the magic used to create ways to get down to the dance floor. Simon couldn’t help but grin at Watford Court’s enthusiasm.

“Prince Simon!” Lady Penelope Bunce appeared. She was dressed in a gown of Watford’s official purple, which perfectly matched her hair, and was patting out a small blue flame from her skirt.

“Lady Penny,” Simon greeted, bowing slightly and grinning. Technically, he outranked her, but she was his friend so he liked to pay her every respect.

“Oh, stop that and dance with me,” Penny said, her hands fluttering impatiently.

The music had indeed resumed, and various couples were already spinning across the floor. Penny picked up her voluminous skirts with one hand and grabbed Simon’s hand with the other. He placed his remaining hand on her waist and off they went.

“So,” Penny said, “What’s with the group of bats that are visiting?”

“Hampshire says they’re here to strengthen our bonds of friendship,” Simon said. “But they’re probably planning something.”

“Oh, they’re definitely planning something,” Penny said. Simon let go of her waist so she could twirl in time with the music, her lifted skirts flaring prettily. “We should try and figure them out.”

Simon scowled at her words.

Penny raised her eyebrows and said, “What’s with the face?”

“The Mage already ordered me to not try and figure them out.”

It was Penny’s turn to frown.

“He’s the Mage, Penny. What can I do?” Simon asked. They had stopped formally addressing each other ages ago.

“You’re the Crown Prince, Simon. Surely you can ignore his orders this one time.” Penny’s tone was imploring as she went on, “The fate of the kingdom might depend on it.”

“Don’t you think that’s… a tad dramatic,” Simon said, chuckling. The song was coming to an end.

“Maybe.” Penny shrugged. “But it would be better to be safe rather than sorry.” She stepped away as the song changed and a page appeared at Simon’s shoulder. “I hope to see you soon, Your Highness.” She curtsied and disappeared into the crowd.

“Your Highness, the Mage requests your presence,” the page said, bowing.

Simon gestured for him to lead the way. The Mage was seated on his throne, which was positioned on a small dais at the head of the ballroom so he could oversee the dancing.

“Prince Simon, Your Majesty,” the page said and ducked out of sight, his job completed.

“Prince Simon, I wanted to remind you that custom requires you to dance the final number of the night with our visitors. You will be partnered with Prince Tyrannus.”

“I learned at dinner that he goes by his middle name, Prince Baz,” Simon said. The Mage raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. “And I _have_ to be partnered with him?” Simon asked.

“Yes,” the Mage said.

Simon bit his lip pensively. He wasn’t… dreading it. Dancing with Baz might even present him with an opportunity to talk with him again, to get a better feel for what he was really up to. He remembered Penny’s advice and nodded, just as another page appeared.

“The Lady Amberstone requests a dance with His Highness, the Crown Prince.” Simon tried to conceal his sigh. He was suddenly looking forward to the end of the ball, enough so that the time until then seemed to stretch on forever. He danced with innumerable lords and ladies, all trying to win his favor or trying to be his friend. He was acquaintances with most of them, but Penny was by far his closest friend in the court.

After what felt like an age, the Mage stood and announced that it was time for the final dance. “Everyone please join me in sharing our thanks with the talented music mages present tonight.” He paused to applaud and the rest of the court followed his lead. “Now it is time to honor our guests one last time, with a dance traditional to their own country.”

Simon wandered towards the center of the floor, knowing that was where he would spot Baz. Indeed, he was waiting there for him, still watching as the Mage concluded his speech about the importance of fostering friendship between two differing peoples. Finally, he finished and sat back down. The music for the final dance began and Simon’s stomach flipped.

The musicians were playing the Firestep, a complex dance traditionally performed simultaneously with partner magic. During it, the dancers were expected to let their magic sweep through their skin and dance in time to the music, in time with the physical steps. It showed off the skill and control of both magicians. The fire created by the magic was controlled by both partners and was meant to be a gesture of trust. It also allowed both countries a glimpse into what the capabilities were of the best magicians in either land.

Despite Simon’s apprehension, he didn’t allow himself to hesitate and began to match Baz step for step. The taste of the other prince’s magic gathered in the back of his throat, but this time Simon allowed it in instead of pushing it away. He let his own magic roar up to meet it as everyone in the ballroom lifted their hands and snapped. Fire and sizzling heat rushed down the arms of all the dancers and they began to twirl in time with the skipping beat of the music.

Simon immediately noticed the change in Baz’s expression, the new sparkle in his eyes. He thought a bit of his giddiness might also be showing. Dancing with Baz--doing magic with Baz-- felt _good_. For the first time in his life, Simon didn’t feel the need to shove his magic down to protect his partner. As he danced, he let his lion slip its leash.

The fire swirling past his eyes turned white-hot and Baz smirked at him as they circled each other. Simon couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He felt a bit drunk on the power he was letting escape. The knowing look in Baz’s eyes wasn’t helping his control either and soon they were the brightest pair in the entire hall.

Simon couldn’t tear his gaze from Baz’s face, from the emotion that was so clearly on display. The swirling flames around them meant that no one else could see, but Simon saw, and he began to wonder.

Because if Prince Baz of Hampshire could dance with him, his eyes sparkling as they burned, then how bad could he really be?

When the dance ended, the music cut off so abruptly that many people, Simon included, tripped into their partners. Baz stepped away too quickly for Simon to not take a little insult. The fire flickering around the room disappeared with the music. All around him, courtiers were bidding each other a final good night. Baz’s face was hard again as he offered Simon a small bow.

Simon only nodded and the other prince walked off, his back soon obscured by the crowd moving toward the doors. All of the lords and ladies who lived in the palace were roomed in the East Wing, while the royal family stayed in the West. So Simon headed in the opposite direction, breaking off the crowd to push through a side door that he knew led to a shortcut to his room.

As he walked, he thought about the Hampshire delegation and Prince Baz. For some reason, his mind kept replaying the moment when the light in Baz’s eyes had disappeared, along with the fire. Simon knew Prince Baz was a puzzle, and though the Mage had told him otherwise, he had decided that he was going to try and figure him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with my story so far :) I'd love to hear what you think! Leave a comment, kudos, or stop by my tumblr @owl-girl04 to see more of my work!


	2. Proposals of Differing Varieties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful comments and feedback on that last chapter! I want to try and update this story once per week, but my life is about to get very hectic, so we'll see how that works out. Meanwhile, enjoy this next chapter!

When Baz opened his eyes, he forgot for a moment where he was. He forgot what he was there to do. Watford was so  _ light _ compared to Hampshire. Everything from the castle’s decor to the civilians’ personalities was vibrant and cheerful. Baz wanted more than anything to just have a day to soak it all in, to adjust. He hadn’t been lying to Prince Simon last night when he remarked on the differences between their two lands, but he had hidden his true awe at his surroundings.

His Aunt Fiona had warned him to not become lax in his mission. She had told him during the journey that Watford boasted of riches and opportunity. Baz had seen her face, the momentary flicker in her expression when they had first sighted the towering golden castle. Her mask of cold collection had slipped for barely a second, but it was enough for him to see that she had been impressed as well.

But he had found that the golden castle was nothing in comparison to its golden prince. Their Head Mage, the one he had been sent to spy on, to plot the downfall of, he was nothing compared to Prince Simon. It had taken all of Baz’s years of etiquette and manners teachings for him to remember how to walk up the steps, towards the other crown prince. And their plan… he couldn’t even think about it without his stomach wrenching.

Then he’d had to sit next to him at dinner. He’d had to converse with him like he was anything other than the most extraordinary person he had ever met. It was more than his magic, too. That was heady and intoxicating, so powerful Baz thought he was in honest danger of getting high off it if he breathed too deeply. No, that was fine, Baz could learn to ignore that. It was his eyes that had unseated him, with their constant glint of hope and mischief.

The thought of their appeal was enough that Baz sat straight up in bed. Desperate to distract himself, he began to dress. Watford fashion and Hampshire fashion were like night and day-- literally. As Baz pulled on his lightest outfit, which was still a deep blue shade, he knew that he was bound to stand out. The ball last night had been gorgeous; it was filled with more magic and color than he had seen in Hampshire in the last year combined. It had been a shock, to say the least.

A knock on his door was the only warning Princess Fiona gave as she marched into his room. 

“You better be decent,” she called from the chamber that served as a living and relaxing space.

Baz opened his bedroom door, running a hand through his hair as he sat down on a chair opposite her. A breakfast tray heaping with sweets and a steaming pot of tea was positioned on the low table between them. Baz helped himself to both as Fiona began to talk.

“I put in a formal request for an alliance meeting last night, so sometime today we should be summoned. If all goes well, I’ll make our case then.” She stopped for breath and slid an appraising glance over Baz’s outfit. “If we’re going to get them to trust you, you’ll need a more Watford-ish wardrobe. I’ll make sure that’s taken care of. I saw the way the court was watching us last night… they’ll never trust us if we don’t blend in a bit better.”

Baz nodded and finished off his pastry, shaking the excess crumbs off his fingers.

“Now nephew, I hope I don’t have to remind you how important your mission is,” Fiona said. Her tone had turned cold, and when he met her eyes they were equally icy.

Baz cleared his throat. “I know what the stakes are.”

“Of course,” Fiona purred. She rearranged her skirt folds, smoothing them over her lap.

“I am honored,” Baz said, “Honored, to do this for my country.”

Fiona opened her mouth to speak, but a sharp knock interrupted her.

“Come in,” Baz called, standing. Fiona followed him towards the door as it opened and a young page crossed the threshold.

“Your Highnesses, I’m glad I found you in one place! Makes my job that much easier.” The boy smiled, looking at them each in turn. When they didn’t respond his grin slowly faded. “I was, uh, sent to inform you that His Majesty the Mage requests your presence in his council chambers. I am to lead you there.”

“Alright,” Baz said. He offered his arm to Fiona, who took it, and they proceeded out into the hall.

Watford was a maze of passages that Baz was itching to map out. He didn’t want to have to be led everywhere. It didn’t help that most of the halls looked almost identical, with enormous windows to let in buttery sunlight, cushy and expensive carpet runners over white marble floors, and creeping ivy plants that each sprouted different colored flowers.

As they walked, the page narrated, seemingly having recovered his enthusiasm. Baz didn’t remember him saying he was also serving as their tour guide, but he appreciated the information. He could feel Fiona bursting to tell him to shut up, and when he patted her arm she shot him a glare.

“And to your left is the main garden. Watford Castle is arranged in a square around the main garden, so crossing it will take you to the East Wing, where most of the court resides. Of course, some stay in the city, but the castle offers the finest living quarters.

“You’re staying in the North Wing, which is usually reserved for guests, but there is a more informal ballroom than the one you were in last night located there. The ballroom you were in last night, that’s our Grand Ballroom. We only dine there during full court functions. The South Wing is where most everything is, including the Grand Ballroom, the library, a bunch of meeting rooms, um, and the entrance to the kitchens, I think.”

“What’s in the West Wing?” Baz asked politely. He saw Fiona’s lips press into a thin white line out of the corner of his eye.

“That’s where the royal family stays, and where all of the council chambers are. If the court has to make a decision, it’s made in the West Wing,” the page explained.

“So that’s where we’re going now,” Baz said.

“Yep!” The boy looked delighted that Baz was holding a conversation with him. He wondered if he’d dealt with any other Hampshirians yet. He was sure they had refrained from speaking to any of the servants.

When they reached their destination the page held open one of the double doors for them. He waved them inside and parted with a chipper, “Have a good day, Your Highnesses!”

Fiona rolled her eyes, but they both proceeded to the long oak table at the center of the room. The Mage was seated at the head of the table and Prince Simon was on his right. Two advisors sat on his left and a member of his famous guards, the Mage’s Men, sat next to Simon. He appeared to be the captain if the plethora of medals and ribbons pinned to his chest were any indication.

Fiona allowed him to sit at the head of the table, even though he knew she would rather take the seat. In the presence of strangers, they had to maintain the front that she deferred to him since as Crown Prince he outranked her. Baz could practically see the angry steam coming out of her ears.

“Good morning, Your Highnesses,” the Mage greeted.

“Your Majesty,” Baz said, nodding.

“We’re waiting on a few of your retinue, and then we will begin,” the Mage said.

A heavy silence fell, and Baz breathed a sigh of relief when Niall and Dev, two lords from his court, entered a few minutes later. 

“I think it’s wonderful that you’re all here,” the Mage began. His tone was smooth enough that Baz suspected he had rehearsed the speech that was surely incoming. Indeed, the Mage continued speaking, a long-winded rant about how delightful it was that they were willing to come to Watford and discuss opportunities for friendship and allyship. After about five minutes, during one of his dramatic pauses, Fiona had had enough.

“Your Majesty, as delightful as it is to hear you talk, Hampshire desires solid backing for any promises of allyship,” Fiona declared.

“That is understandable,” the Mage agreed, “But I would hope that you have enough trust in Watford’s desire for friendship that--”

“Actually, Majesty, we were hoping for more than friendship,” Fiona interrupted. She smiled, her forced politeness almost sickening. “Hampshire has realized the strength of both of our kingdoms and the benefit there would be in forging a bond between them.”

“Well that is truly terrific news,” the Mage said. He smiled grandly at Fiona and then at Baz. “I would love to hear what your Crown Prince has to say on the matter.”

“Though and perhaps even because we have feuded in the past,” Fiona continued, drawing the Mage’s attention back to her, “Our kingdom believes a gesture of alliance, such as a marriage, would serve as a grand gesture of peace and unity.”

“That  _ is _ an option, but if I may--” One of the advisors attempted to redirect Fiona, but she was on a roll.

“Hampshire will offer our crown prince, Prince Basilton, for our side of this union,” Fiona concluded, settling back into her chair.

The assembled Watfordians gaped at her. Baz chanced a glance at Simon and saw that he had gone pale, perhaps anticipating what would come next. Baz knew it was his turn to speak, that this was his part of the plan to enact.

“If I may speak,” Baz said, and stood. He tried to quell the trembling in his hands by tucking them behind his back. “It would be my honor to marry to forge an alliance between our two countries, but to ensure that we would both benefit from such a union, I would insist that someone of equal rank become my betrothed.”

It took Prince Simon less than a second to process what he had said, and he stood up to face Baz. His mouth opened but no words came out, and the Mage seemed to realize he should say something before he lost control completely.

“I think this matter would be best settled between a single representative from Hampshire and myself,” the Mage said. His group of representatives stood mechanically, as if they had been awaiting a cue from him.

“Princess Fiona would be happy to discuss the terms of my engagement with you,” Baz said. Niall and Dev pushed up from their chairs and left. They hadn’t spoken a single syllable, but Baz knew Dev would be reporting to his father every word that had been said during the meeting.

As much as Fiona respected the High Court of Hampshire and its Families, she probably had her own agenda. Dev was loyal to a fault to Hampshire’s High Mage. Niall… Niall was almost Baz’s friend, but he knew in a matter such as this he could only rely on himself.

Baz offered a shallow bow to the Mage and followed Dev and Niall out. He didn’t dare look at Simon’s face.

~

Back in his set of rooms, Baz paced. He couldn’t seem to successfully sort through the emotions rolling around inside his head. His sitting-room was dark compared to the rest of Watford castle. It was as close as he could get to feeling like he was back at home.

He dragged a hand down his face and surveyed the chamber around him for the umpteenth time. Cheery, pastel yellow couches were positioned in the corner around a squat oak table, where the remains of his breakfast still sat. The walls were appointed in a creamy white shade and the windows-- the windows were blocked by curtains.

Baz nearly tripped over his feet in his eagerness to open them. His suspicions were confirmed when his eyes adjusted to the new shafts of buttery, warm sunlight streaming in. His room had a wonderful view of the gardens at the center of the castle, and, even better, a set of double glass doors leading to a patio for him to enjoy.

Hoping the fresh air would provide him with new clarity, Baz headed outside. Again, he immediately found himself comparing Watford to Hampshire. Instead of gardens, Hampshire was more famous for their legendary hedge maze, where Baz had gotten lost for hours as a child. Hampshire had dark, imposing shrubbery with little in the ways of flowers or color. Watford seemed to delight in introducing its guests to colors of the rainbow they had never even seen before.

It didn’t take Baz long to decide to forgo his secluded patio to explore the winding paths. For the first time since the meeting, he breathed easily, confident that Fiona wouldn’t think to check the garden for him. He let himself admire his surroundings and removed the aloof mask he had made sure to maintain throughout his visit.

When he stumbled upon a bench, he sat and finally confronted his thoughts again. His family had always been blessed by strong affinities for fire magic, and their tempers could often match the passionate and harsh magic, but he didn’t feel particularly angry at the moment. He just felt empty. He had just pledged himself to a stranger, a person he’d had one conversation with.

His thoughts drifted over their previous interactions; their stilted conversation at the welcome ball replayed over and over in his mind. He knew he was attracted to Prince Simon, but suddenly Baz struggled to separate that from the pull of his magic. He was being stupid, really. He shouldn’t even be worrying about his engagement… it was fake.

Baz’s father had assured him that any plan to dispose of the Mage would be enacted long before he ever had to marry Watford’s crown prince. His role was to be the distraction and the spy. He was to spend time with Simon, become close to him, and through him, become close to the Mage.

Suddenly, the bushes across from him rustled. Baz’s head snapped up as Prince Simon pushed his way through the shrubbery and onto the path in front of him. When the prince spotted Baz he groaned, tilting his face up towards the darkening sky. He had abandoned his crown and his curly bronze hair was disheveled and glowing in the setting sun.

“Seriously?” Simon asked. Even from ten feet away, Baz could feel the hum of Prince Simon’s magic. He had to be truly upset if he had loosened his control so much.

Baz frowned and made sure his true emotions were wiped clean from his face. “What?”

“What’s your real game?” Simon demanded. He planted his fists on his hips and scowled. The other crown prince had also changed out of his heavy formal jacket after their meeting, and his white button-down shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows to combat the summer heat.

“My real game,” Baz repeated, letting his eyebrows slowly raise. It would be best to try and convince Simon he was crazy. Nevermind the fact that he was right.

“Yes!” Simon threw his hands up and a few sparks ignited between his fingers. “You’re not fooling anyone, least of all me! I know you’re up to something and so does the Mage. Whatever you think you’re getting away with…” Simon pointed an accusing finger at Baz’s chest. “It won’t work.”

Baz ignored the swirling power now directed at him and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not up to anything. Hampshire just wants to improve relations.”

Simon looked like he was seeing red. “Your whole improving relations facade is bullshit, and you know it.”

“Careful,” Baz warned, “You don’t want anyone to hear you talking to your fiance like that.”

Simon crossed his arms over his chest, but didn’t meet Baz’s eyes as he said, “The Mage will never go through with it.” Baz’s pressure headache from Simon’s power was slowly fading.

Baz stood up from the bench and tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. “We’ll see.”

Simon let loose a ragged sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Be cryptic or whatever. Just know that Watford is all the good things in this world.” He paused as if considering his words. “I will do whatever it takes to protect it.”

“Even marrying your worst enemy?” Baz asked, letting a little bit of snark slip into his tone.

Simon met his eyes, and Baz saw he was deadly serious. “Marrying you won’t protect my country. If anything, it’ll destroy it from the inside out.”

Baz kept his smirk pasted on his face, but inside he couldn’t help but admire the prince’s determination. Baz would never be able to tell him, how he was right to assume the worst, and how he was brave for being so honest with him.

“Have a good night, Your Highness,” Simon said before Baz could think of a witty response. He nodded and turned away, not quite quickly enough to hide the exhaustion clouding his features.

Baz remained silent as the sound of his footsteps gradually faded and Simon disappeared around a curve in the path.

The sun had set behind the castle wall while they had been talking, and purple dusk had fallen. Watford’s summer nights were just as warm as its days, which meant Baz was in no hurry as he, too, made his way back towards the castle.

Prince Simon’s words were still stuck in his head. He believed, wholeheartedly, in Watford’s goodness. For some reason, that sentiment didn’t sit right with Baz. He knew that he was also loyal to his country, but he also was aware of Hampshire’s faults, of which there were many. Baz’s reluctant loyalty seemed weak in comparison to Simon’s fierce, unconditional love for Watford. What would that be like, Baz wondered, to be able to cherish something so much?

In fact, since arriving at Watford, Baz was beginning to realize how Hampshire paled in comparison to Watford.

But instead of getting angry, like Fiona had, or jealous, like other members of his retinue, he was just beginning to feel sad. That would be his problem, as he enacted his father’s plan. Admiring Watford, enjoying it… it did him no good. Such thoughts and emotions were certainly treasonous.

Baz sighed as he pulled open his patio door and glanced once more over his shoulder at the gardens beyond. A breeze filled with the sweet scent of flowers brushed over his face. It was so peaceful, so lovely. And it was his job to destroy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I know gay stuff was Not Okay in medieval times but in this particular world they don't care. I figured the people in this story have enough problems (which I'll touch on more later in the story), without dealing with homophobia as well. Anyway, as always any feedback is super duper appreciated! Leave a comment or a kudos to let me know you're still interested! If you want to see more of my work my Tumblr is @owl-girl04 :)


	3. Creating Starlight From Scratch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you're all safe and happy, wherever you are. I'm so grateful for all of the awesome feedback you guys have been giving. Every single comment and kudos is appreciated! Alright, without further ado, here's the third chapter; enjoy!

Simon didn’t have to wait long for the Mage’s official decision. He had barely closed his patio doors when an envelope with Watford’s royal seal slid under his door. As he read it, his stomach slowly sunk. Prince Baz had been right, the Mage had agreed to an engagement after all.

It didn’t take long for Simon’s unease to turn to anger. His magic flared to match the new fiery surge of emotion and the letter vanished into ash. Simon watched the darkened paper flecks drift to the floor and tried to remember to breathe.

He couldn’t help but think that the Mage was a coward. A coward for bending to Hampshire’s whims and a coward for not facing Simon and explaining his decision. Simon threaded his fingers through his curls as his magic gathered underneath his skin.

The Mage had to have some sort of plan in store. He couldn’t simply be stepping back and allowing Hampshire to infiltrate Watford. Even after speaking with Baz further, Simon was still convinced of his malicious intent.

Something about the Hampshire delegation didn’t sit right with him, and if the Mage wasn’t willing to defend Watford from them, then Simon would step in. But to do that, he needed a plan.

Suppressing his magic with one sharp inhale, Simon threw himself into one of his sitting room chairs. The springs protested as he shifted. His gaze traced a frantic path around the room, as if the solutions to all of his problems were hidden in the cream patterned wallpaper.

Try as he might, Simon could think of no way to proceed. He needed more proof, more information.

The minutes continued to creep by and eventually, Simon resigned himself to going to bed. Even if it meant personally spying on the Crown Prince of Hampshire, Simon vowed to find a way to break off his engagement.

~

Time trickled forward and Simon had managed to only catch fleeting glimpses of Prince Baz and his retinue in the corridors. There had been no more formal dinners or balls; the castle staff was too busy preparing to host Simon and Baz’s formal engagement ball. The invitations had been sent out, the courtiers were busy with their gossip, and Simon had passed many hours trying to subtly trail the other prince.

But Prince Baz seemed to be an expert on unintentionally avoiding him. Or at least Simon figured it was unintentional. He didn’t think he had given himself away. 

After nearly giving up on the prince, Simon requested an audience with the Mage. He felt he at least deserved an explanation, but his request had been denied. It seemed the Mage was also avoiding him. They had crossed paths only once in the halls and Simon had received a mere nod of greeting before Premal, Captain of the Mage’s Men, had shooed him away.

“I can’t believe he has my brother in on it,” Penny said. She swept her hand across her face as she spoke and managed to turn the freckles dusting her cheeks electric blue.

“Whatever  _ it _ is,” Simon mumbled, plopping down onto a chair, “I don’t like it.”

Penny hummed in agreement, her attention turning back to the magic twisting around her fingers. She had invited Simon to join her for tea, but he had consumed it so quickly that their visit had turned into an impromptu aesthetic magic practice session. Well, Penny was practicing. Simon was regaling her with the tale of his struggles.

“Does this look ridiculous?” Penny asked, tilting her head as she inspected her face in her mirror.

“Probably,” Simon said, still staring at the ceiling.

“It would do you good to practice as well,” Penny said. She returned her complexion to normal with a sharp snap and frowned at Simon. “You’ll most likely have to do some crazy magic at your enga--”

“No, don’t say it!” Simon protested.

“At your  _ ball _ , then,” Penny finished. She pursed her lips.

Simon groaned from his position across the room. He had made himself at home on one of her sitting room chairs, which were lilac and lime, like the flowered pattern creeping across the wallpaper.

“You really don’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of the entire court. Need I remind you how complex engagement magic is?” When Simon didn’t respond, Penny smirked. “So I suppose you don’t recall what happened three years ago with--”

“Penny!” Simon exclaimed, “I really don’t want to talk about it.” He sat up a bit as she shot him a doubtful look.

“No, Simon. You just want to complain about it.” She snapped twice, and her blue dress flashed yellow. “Is this a good color for me?”

“Yes,” Simon said, not even bothering to look. “And hey,” he continued, standing, “I’m completely open to any solutions you may have.” He imitated her snapping and managed to create horrible orange polka dots that splattered across his blue blazer.

Penny cringed as she beheld his creation. “What if you just go with it?”

Simon stopped considering how to fix his spots to glare at her and said, “What does that mean?”

“I’m just saying, what if going with the engagement and pretending to enjoy all the wedding planning means you get to spend more time with Prince Baz? That could give you a shot at this information you’re so keen on gathering.”

Simon considered, his expression slowly lightening. “Penny… that could actually work!”

“I know,” Penny said. Her grin at his enthusiasm faded as a knock sounded at the door. She pointed at his ruined outfit and his spots disappeared. “Come in!”

Her brother Pacey slammed the door open but didn’t bother entering the room. Penny scowled at the sight of him, her hands fisting in her sunny skirts.

“Mom wants to have a family dinner. She requests you come with me to her chambers,” Pacey said. 

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Penny demanded, propping her fists on her hips. 

“Yes,” Pacey deadpanned, “And hello, Your Highness.”

“Hello,” Simon said timidly.

“But Mom doesn’t care,” Pacey insisted, “And frankly, neither do I. Now let’s go.”

Penny groaned and grimaced in apology at Simon, but followed Pacey into the hall. Simon didn’t blame her for leaving. Lady Bunce could be absolutely terrifying and she was extremely powerful. It had apparently been quite the scandal when she had married for love, into a family with little magic to speak of. But now she had made quite the name for herself as the strong, outspoken head of the Bunce family.

Penny set the door closed gently behind her. Even from behind the thick oak slab, Simon could make out their raised voices as they bickered.

That was one thing Simon didn’t really understand about Penny. She and her siblings seldom got along. He figured that if he had siblings, he would want to be close with them. Simon made it a habit to cherish the people in his life, whether it was his adopted father or the maid who always brought him his breakfast. Maybe it was just different when you actually had siblings; you were so busy being annoyed by them that you forgot to take time to wonder what life would be like without them.

The Mage had asked Simon time and again why he insisted on befriending a girl from a family so vocally opposed to him, but Simon had always shrugged him off. When it came down to it, being friends with Penny was almost like having a sister. He didn’t know what he would do without her.

Simon inhaled the leftover hint of Penny’s magic, letting the heavy aroma fill his chest. The familiar smell always managed to comfort him, but his thoughts were still moving too fast. Simon didn’t like thinking, especially about negative things, like Prince Baz.

As he stood alone in Penny’s his own words echoed in his head.  _ I will do whatever it takes _ .

~

The next day, Simon was summoned to one of the smaller ballrooms. He only accepted the invitation because he was tired of being cooped up. He couldn’t seem to sit still; every time he did, a wave of anxiety over his engagement ball crashed over him. So, he paced and ignored the fact that in two days he would be binding himself to an almost-stranger. An almost stranger who was almost certainly conspiring to hurt Watford, and maybe even him.

When he arrived, he realized immediately he had made a mistake in coming. Lady Possibelf, his imposing childhood etiquette teacher was standing in the center of the room. She was tall with silvery hair, and in her equally silvery gown, she looked ageless. But that wasn’t what made Simon’s stomach drop.

Prince Baz was standing with her, looking slightly uncomfortable in a royal blue tailcoat with cream accents. Simon had to blink twice before he recognized him. He looked almost… Watford-ish.

“Prince Simon,” Lady Possibelf said, dipping into a small curtsy. Simon considered her greeting to be a bit overly-formal. He had spent hours upon hours of his childhood with Lady Possibelf after he had arrived at Watford Castle. She had been assigned the unenviable task of teaching an almost-feral ten year old how to behave like a prince. Simon had never even touched a napkin before he was adopted, so she had had her work cut out for her.

Simon jolted into motion when he realized he had been frozen near the door. “Hello, Lady Possibelf. Your Highness.” He nodded once to Baz, who was looking at him oddly.

Lady Possibelf raised an imperious eyebrow at his greeting. It was proper protocol to address the highest-ranking individual in the room first. Refusing to feel chastised for his petty victory, Simon forged onwards. “Is there a particular reason I was summoned?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Lady Possibelf said. She clasped her hands in front of her and continued, “You and Prince Basilton will be expected to perform the customary Watford proposal magic during your ball overmorrow. Most magicians put together grand demonstrations of power to prove themselves worthy of whoever will be receiving the proposal. Since yours will be mutual, you both will need to collaborate and come up with a display that the court will approve of. It must be impressive enough to please them since you are both crown princes. I will be at your disposal, should you need me, but for now I’ll leave you to it.” She nodded once to each of them before striding from the room.

Simon turned to Baz and saw that he appeared equally discomfited by her directions. Simon tried to remind himself that spending time with the other prince would be a good thing. Keep your enemies closer, and all that.

After a beat of awkward silence, Simon cleared his throat and tucked his hands into his pockets. “Well, do you have any ideas?”

“This is a relatively normal practice in Hampshire as well,” Baz murmured. “My mother hung the moon for my father.” 

“That’s… very romantic,” Simon admitted, shifting from foot to foot.

“Yes, well, she’s gone now,” Baz said, his tone cold.

“What happened?” Simon asked. His brow furrowed.

Prince Baz hesitated but eventually, he shook his head and said, “Moonchild assassins came for her in the dead of night.” Baz pressed his lips into a thin line, as his eyes shone with memories of the past.

Simon had heard of the legendary Moonchildren, who worked for no one but themselves. They danced into and out of common land histories, occasionally committing infernal acts before disappearing back into their North Forest. They were like monsters in children’s bedtime stories: fabled, elusive, and deadly.

“We could do something inspired by her,” Simon suggested, snapping Prince Baz from his thoughts.

“Really?” The other prince’s eyebrows crept toward his hairline.

“Well, I don’t have any better ideas,” Simon said. He shrugged and removed his hands from his pockets as he loosened the leash on his magic. Faint aether particles began to spark around his fingers.

Baz nodded once, his expression softening a bit as he matched Simon’s widened stance. His own magic, peppery and burning, filled the air. Simon felt his ears pop. 

“Then we better get started,” Baz said, “This might take a bit of practice.”

~

For the first time in his life, Simon found himself seated at the head of the table. All around him, various Watford advisors and other favored members of the court made small talk and tried their best not to stare at him and Prince Baz, who was seated beside him. 

Prince Baz was back in his traditional Hampshrian clothing; his deep blue sharply contrasted against Simon’s light grey ensemble. When he had met Penny in the hall before the ball officially began she had told him he looked like he was wearing storm clouds. He supposed that the yellow accent threads might give off a lightning-like impression. He liked it, though.

So far, the engagement ball was shaping up to be much less formal than the first ball with the Hampshire delegation. The royal table wasn’t even in use and Simon was seated among the regular court. So was the Mage, but the attention was all on Simon tonight.

And Baz, but Simon was doing his best to ignore the other prince. Every time he looked at him his stomach began churning at the thought of what he was about to do. It wasn’t even the magic they were performing that made him nervous. It was more that Simon was promising himself to an acquaintance-- and most likely and enemy --in front of the entire court.

“Are you alright, Your Highness?” the courtier to his left asked. 

Simon realized he was pulling a face and stopped, but Prince Baz’s eyes had already flicked towards him.

The girl who had spoken looked to be about his own age, with curly brown hair and brown skin. Her neon orange dress was relatively outrageous, even by Watford’s standards. She smiled at him and then at Baz, who looked a bit surprised to be included. 

“You may have never heard of me, but I’m Lady Rootwell.” She extended her hand across the table, which Simon shook. “You can call me Ginger if you’d like.”

“Nice to meet you,” Simon said, hastily retracting his hand. It was an unusual gesture for her to make, considering most people greeting him dropped immediately into curtsies or bows.

“I’m very new around these parts,” Ginger continued, offering her hand to Baz as well. He managed to look professional as he shook it. Simon was immediately jealous. “My parents sent me to Watford’s court after I attended finishing school in Norwich at their Prestige Academy.”

“I used to know someone who went there,” Simon said. “Lady Wellbelove?”

“No way!” Ginger exclaimed, garnering more than a few stares from those seated nearby. She clapped eagerly and said, “Agatha was in some of my classes. We became quite good friends!”

“Yes, well,” Simon stammered, taken aback by her enthusiasm.

“She was set to return home soon, actually. How did you know her?” Ginger asked.

Simon was saved from answering by Prince Baz clearing his throat pointedly. 

“Excuse me, Ginger, but we do have a ceremony to get on with,” Simon said.

“Of course.” She smiled as he and Baz stood up together.

The chatter throughout the hall quieted naturally as they approached the center of the dance floor. Even though most of the court was present, they had elected to hold the ball in one of the less formal ballrooms, so the tables were all scattered near the walls. Simon was thankful he didn’t have to come up with a creative solution to get to the dance floor; his brain felt like mush.

Simon and Baz took up positions a few feet apart, facing each other. Prince Baz spoke first, the traditional Watford words of engagement. His face was so solemn while he spoke that he might have been pronouncing someone had died. Simon had to stifle a laugh.

His laughter shriveled and died in his chest when it came to be his turn to speak. He took a deep breath and did his best to prevent his voice from shaking as he recited. ““My truest love, I ask that you accept my heart, magic, and being. We were molded by the stars for each other and now I offer you my gift from the heavens. May you be delighted by it and may the people remember it for its majesty because it represents my love.”

Simon nearly choked on his last line, but he managed it, though he had no idea if he had been able to keep the disdain from his expression.

After a pregnant pause, both princes took a step toward each other, raised their upturned hands. Exactly as they had rehearsed, their magic intertwined, Simon’s cold power sizzling against Prince Baz’s fiery heat. He had almost forgotten how enjoyable it was to do partner magic with the other prince. It was as if his magic only accepted working with someone who had equal power but was yet his opposite. Simon smiled as they wove a tapestry of clouds, allowing them to expand and smother the entire floor. 

The onlookers hummed appreciatively as inky night sky began to drip from their fingers. Simon felt like a painter as he waved his arms through the air, scattering the sky illusion above everyone’s heads. Then he felt Baz take hold of their combined magic, his bright fire winking and sparkling among the cool night. A thousand compact, sizzling stars dot across their tapestry.

Simon took a final deep inhale. He watched Prince Baz’s chest rise as he did the same. As one, they exhaled, two shimmering strands of silver erupting from their chest.

The court clapped and laughed as the strands twirled across the room, threading between heads, legs, and tables, and eventually meeting near the ceiling.

Simon pressed his palms together; Baz did the same. The silver swirled and knotted and their illusion magic was complete. As they finished, Simon met Baz’s eyes and smiled again. In the starlight, Baz looked soft around the edges, his eyes less guarded. In Simon’s opinion, he completed the picture; with his dark hair and pale complexion, he was made for the night. Simon couldn’t help but appreciate the peacefulness of the moment, the stillness their combined chaotic magic had created. 

A heavy sense of deja vu swept over Simon as he considered the other prince. Something about combining their magic, drawing so close to Baz’s soul, seemed to unlock him. The look in Baz’s eyes… it seemed a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. The corners of the other prince’s mouth had also begun to creep up when Baz broke his gaze, his eyes drifting to a point over Simon’s shoulder. So fast that Simon could've blinked and missed it, Baz’s expression changed again, becoming the aloof mask Simon had come to expect. Then Baz’s gaze dropped to the floor and the moment was truly over.

A sudden jolt of loneliness hit him as Simon stood there, suspended in the night sky, surrounded as he was by the clouds, stars, and inky darkness. And the silver moon, which glowed luminously overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably know the drill by now :) I love any feedback! Leave a comment or leave a kudos and know that by doing so you're making my day! I'm not sure when the next chapter will be posted, because my life just got very very busy (I'm moving), but I'm hoping to stay on schedule. Also this will be the last chapter with a ball in it for... a while. I know that can get a bit repetitive, but it had to be done ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	4. A Serenade For His Bad Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back with the next chapter, and it's a long one! It was one of those situations where it was too short to be two chapters and a little too long to be one, and I figured all of you would appreciate a long chapter anyway. I hope you enjoy it!

Prince Baz was growing extremely fond of Watford Castle’s gardens. He spent most of his free time exploring the wandering paths and quickly ducking out of sight whenever he heard footsteps approaching.

It wasn’t that he was scared of running into anyone; he just preferred the company of his own thoughts over that of nosy courtiers. Because of his isolation tactics, he hadn’t seen Prince Simon since their silly engagement ball. And try as he might, Baz found he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about that very event.

Baz was getting used to the bright clothes, cheery conversation, and even the odd notion of serving himself from dishes in the center of the table, but he couldn’t get over the magic.

In Hampshire, magic wasn’t usually shared. Courtiers didn’t waste their time impressing others with giant feats of aesthetic magic unless it was a special occasion. And in that case, such as when his mother had proposed, it wasn’t applauded or enjoyed. When Baz had explained his mother’s proposal to Prince Simon, he hadn’t expected him to consider it  _ romantic _ . Awe-inspiring, powerful, and intimidating were usually the words others used to describe his mother. But romantic… 

Baz shook his head as he reached a fork in the garden path. He chose the right, knowing it would lead back to his room. The left path would’ve brought him back to where he had encountered Prince Simon nearly two weeks ago.

The other crown prince was constantly surprising him. The thoughtfulness of his idea for their engagement magic contrasted so sharply with the vehemently passionate attitude he had about defending his country. Prince Simon seemed to give out small kindnesses wherever he went, from thanking whoever held the door open for him to making casual and awkward conversation with odd party guests. And he did it all without a second thought.

Baz reached his room and nearly groaned aloud. Fiona was waiting for him on one of his sitting room couches. From the nasty glare she shot him as he entered, he figured she had been there a while. 

“I’ve been sitting here for _forty_ _minutes_ ,” she snapped, crossing her arms over her black corset. It had small silver studs accentuating the neckline and shoulders. They glinted in the light as she stood. “Don’t tell me you’ve been in the garden the entire time.”

“I’ve been in the garden the entire time,” Baz said. He held up a hand as Fiona opened her mouth to snarl something else. “And before you even ask, I haven’t received a single invitation to spend time with Prince Simon all week.”

“Maybe that’s because the messengers couldn’t seem to find you!” Fiona exclaimed, tossing her hands towards the ceiling.

Baz ignored her, choosing instead to sit down and pick up one of the scones from a platter on the squat table between them.

“Baz, you do realize what you’re supposed to be doing? Gathering information on the Watford High Court? Sabotaging any plans they may have to undermine us?” He continued to stare at his pastry, so she snapped her fingers in front of his nose. Glimmering purple sparks floated to the floor. “Does any of this ring a bell?”

Baz frowned. “I know what I’m here to do Fiona. It would just help if the Families also did  _ their _ job a bit quicker.”

“Don’t you dare insult the Families,” Fiona scoffed, “When your performance here has been lackluster at best.”

“Excuse me?” Baz set down his untouched scone as Fiona planted herself in the chair across from him.

Fiona grinned like a cat and said, “You’ve been tasked with getting the crown prince of Watford to fall head over heels for you and then getting all the information you can from him.”

“You say that like it’s supposed to be easy,” Baz interjected.

“It should be for someone with your… capabilities,” Fiona purred.

Baz’s spine locked up. “I’m not going to  _ spell _ Prince Simon in love with me.”

Fiona noted where he gripped the arms of his chair, his whitened knuckles. “If you start acting like the happy-go-lucky Watfordian we all want you to be, maybe you won’t have to.”

“You’re not the one who just got forced into an engagement with their enemy,” Baz shot back. “And if you or any of the families don’t concoct a plan quick enough, I might be stuck actually following through with it.”

“Oh no, is the poor baby crown prince having second thoughts?” Fiona’s tone was sing-song as she continued to smile at his discomfort.

Baz forced himself to relax as he met her eyes. “I was told it was a distraction. I’m not actually getting married.”

“Consider that to be your motivation then,” Fiona said, sitting forward. She propped her chin on a fist as she looked him over. “Work faster to get Hampshire the information we need to plan our assassination, and you won’t have to marry the prince.”

Baz couldn’t help but glance at the door to make sure it was shut tightly. “You should be more careful when mentioning…  _ that _ .”

“Don’t you worry about me, nephew.” Fiona stood and dusted off her skirt. “You should be worrying about your own problems. Well, your  _ one _ problem.” She sashayed to the door and exited.

~

The next morning, Baz awoke to an invitation to tea and wedding planning. It came in the form of a gold and cream envelope slid under his door. When he saw it, he nearly chuckled. Only Watford would care to make something as small as an envelope opulent.

By the time eleven o’clock rolled around, no servant had arrived at the door to guide him. He assumed it was because he was expected to know his way around the castle by now. And perhaps allowing him to be unsupervised was some sort of gesture of trust. 

Baz checked over his appearance once more in the mirror— a pale green shirt, deep blue jacket, and matching pants —and straightened one of his sleeves, which were adorned in whorls of gold creeping vines. He mentally congratulated himself on nearly mastering Watford fashion and left for tea.

Baz found Lady Possibelf waiting for him in a lounge not far from his room. It had the same views of the garden that he was growing used to and seating area setup of his own chambers. The only difference was a small table lined with food pushed to the side. The space between the cushy chairs was occupied by a low table piled with papers.

Lady Possibelf stood and curtsied formally. “Good morning, Your Highness.”

Remembering Fiona’s instructions to be more Watford-ish, Baz tried to school his features into a less frigid expression. “Good morning, Lady Possibelf. Will Prince Simon be joining us?”

“At some point,” she said with a wry smile. “I’m afraid during my time as his instructor I was never able to break his habit of tardiness.”

Baz smiled a bit and moved across the room to begin filling a plate with sandwiches. He had sat down across from Lady Possibelf when the door swung open and Prince Simon rushed in. His crown was askew with curls of hair sticking out from underneath it in all directions.

“Sorry I’m late, I was with Penny and I had only just gotten the message when I returned to my room—“ Prince Simon halted mid-sentence as he noticed Baz for the first time. “But I digress… er, good morning, Your Highness. Lady Possibelf.”

“The morning is nearly over,” Lady Possibelf said briskly, “So we’d best get started.”

“Yes, sorry,” Simon repeated, looking a bit guilty. He hurried to grab some food and slid into the chair next to Baz.

“Alright, so wedding planning,” Lady Possibelf said, clasping her hands together. “Between you and I, weddings that have to honor two separate and… very  _ different _ countries are quite the hassle to plan. Though I am of course knowledgeable on certain customs in Hampshire, any insight you could offer, Prince Baz, would be very welcome.”

Baz nodded as she began to sift through the mountain of papers between them. He snuck a glance at Simon, who’s eyes already looked glazed over as he bit off a corner of pastry.

“We can start with the color schemes, which of course will include flower selection. I’m sure I’ll be able to get some samples for our next meeting but for now, you’ll have to bear with me.” Lady Possibelf continued. 

Baz returned his attention to Simon, who had finished his pastry and moved onto his sandwich. As he watched the other crown prince’s jaw work through the bread, he was transported back to their engagement magic. The way Simon’s face seemed to transform when he did magic, the clenching of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, the furrow that appeared between his brow— Baz cut himself off mid-thought. He should be paying attention to the present, not dwelling on how their starlight had danced in Simon’s eyes and over his copper curls. 

“Next week we’ll move on to the food. The biggest decision will have to be the cake, but drinks, appetizers, and the main course, as well as side dishes, will all be important.”

Baz noticed in his periphery that Simon had also taken to sneaking glances at him. He tried to shove down a sudden urge to self consciously ruffle his hair. He wondered if Simon was now remembering their moment under the newly hung full moon, the entire court orbiting around them and seeming miles away. They had stared and stared at each other, suspended in the sky. But then a figure behind Simon— Aunt Fiona, no less —had moved, Baz’s gaze had shifted, and he had remembered who he really was. Who he needed to be.

“Does that sound alright, Your Highnesses?”

Baz froze, realizing he had been so focused on Simon he had begun to completely ignore Lady Possibelf.

Luckily, Simon was prepared. “My Lady, would you mind if Lady Penelope was invited to these meetings. I'm sure you remember how terrible I am at planning parties. Also, she’s my closest friend, so she’ll know what I would like best.”

“Of course, Your Highness. That’s an excellent idea,” Lady Possibelf said. She stood and straightened her silver skirt. “In fact, it might be best if I fetch her for today’s meeting as well. By your leave, sir.”

“Oh, for sure,” Simon said, nodding. They both watched Lady Possibelf disappear into the corridor.

Baz swallowed his nerves as he realized this was the first time he had been alone with Prince Simon since the ball. He was prepared for Simon to begin making half-hearted small talk, but he  _ definitely _ wasn’t prepared for what Simon said next.

“What would you do if you had to marry me?”

The steaming cup of tea Baz had been reaching for splashed across his lap as he jerked to attention. “ _ Shit _ ,” Baz hissed, reaching for a napkin. There were none within arm’s length.

Simon looked like he was suppressing a smirk as he offered Baz some of Lady Possibelf’s papers. Baz took them reluctantly and began soaking up his mess.

Simon stood to go grab him actual napkins as he worked.

Baz took the time to process Prince Simon’s question. He didn’t think he would ever get used to the other prince’s straightforward approach to conversation.

“I would like an answer, though,” Simon said as he sat back down.

“Well,” Baz began, and deciding it would probably be best to be honest, “I’d be grateful you aren’t completely insufferable. That is to say, I  _ am _ glad you aren’t completely insufferable.”

“You have a higher opinion of me than I ever hoped,” Simon deadpanned, raising his eyebrows.

Baz crossed his arms and went on, “You have to understand we  _ just met _ . This is perhaps the fourth conversation we’ve ever had. How could I look forward to marrying a stranger?”

Prince Simon’s mouth twisted as he considered. “Then why are you going through with it?”

Baz had silently asked himself that question many times over the past week, but he shrugged and provided the answer that had been schooled into him hundreds of times: “I will do anything for my country. If marrying you will benefit Hampshire, then that is what I’ll do.”

“So, you  _ don’t _ want to marry me?” Simon asked, his tone growing insistent. His face was completely open as he met Baz’s eyes.

“It’s nothing personal,” Baz said. Immediately, he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. Simon’s normally warm gaze had chilled.

Simon frowned and snapped, “I take it personally whenever someone is plotting against my country.”

Baz felt the corners of his mouth stretching into a scowl. “So you think just because I don’t actually like you, I must be plotting against you?”

Prince Simon settled back into his chair. “Yes,” he said simply.

“That’s  _ ridiculous _ ,” Baz exclaimed. He stopped trying to suppress his own frown.

“Is it truly?” Prince Simon asked, his head tilting.

The beginnings of fiery magic whispered across Baz’s fingers as he beheld the strange emotion dancing in the other prince’s eyes. He had taken another deep breath, preparing to respond— probably something he would have regretted later —when the parlor door opened again.

A young lady with outrageously purple hair and dark skin, presumably Lady Penelope, entered first. Her eyes, clever and piercing, narrowed as she gave Baz a once-over. Baz knew immediately she would be trouble if he put even a toe out of line around her. The fierceness of her energy, and her magic too for that matter, would have fit in easily at Hampshire. However, based on her style and general disposition as she grinned at Simon, she wouldn’t be keen on visiting.

Still smiling, she bobbed a small curtsy, nodding in their general direction. “Your Highnesses.” Then, all formality disappeared as she slid down to perch on the arm of Simon’s chair. She whispered something into his ear and he broke out laughing.

Baz’s stomach plunged. Prince Simon had spoken truly then, about her being his closest friend. Growing up in Hampshire, isolated and put on a pedestal as their crown prince, Baz had never had the luxury of friends, much less a best friend. But clearly, he was missing out.

Lady Possibelf followed Lady Penelope back to the table and cleared her throat as she sat down. Out of the corner of his eye, Baz watched Penny roll her eyes the tiniest bit as she patted Simon on the shoulder and moved into the last vacant seat.

“Penny, you haven’t met His Highness, Prince Baz yet, have you?” Simon asked.

“Nope,” Lady Penny said, “But it’s lovely to finally get the chance.” Her sharp gaze cutting through Baz told him it was anything but.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Lady Penelope,” Baz responded, making sure his tone was equally cheery.

“Lady Penny, if you please,” she said. “My friends never call me Penny. And any friend of Simon’s is a friend of mine.” She busied her hands by rearranging her skirt across the chair as Lady Possibelf cleared her throat importantly again.

“Where were we? Oh yes, color schemes.” Lady Possibelf’s brow furrowed as she began to sort through the papers, flipping and rearranging. “Now where did that swatch paper get to?”

Baz looked over to Prince Simon, who appeared on the verge of laughter, his eyes darting between Lady Possibelf and the tea-soaked paper ball Baz still clutched. He subtly tucked it into his pocket and said, “Why don’t we get started on the guestlist today instead?”

Lady Possibelf sighed through her nose and picked up a different paper. “Good idea, Your Highness. Let us proceed.”

~

Three excruciating hours later, Baz finally escaped back to his room. As he walked the corridors, he couldn't help but run through his and Simon’s argument again. He still couldn’t figure out how it had become an argument in the first place. It was obviously Prince Simon’s fault; with his blunt questions and distrustful accusations, Baz had every right to get angry. But for every part of him that was upset with the other prince for managing to rile him so easily, an equal part was beginning to feel guilty.

After all, with every accusation Simon sent his way, he was digging himself deeper into a grave of lies. It shouldn’t matter to him: Simon’s opinion, Watford, the plan to ruin it… but it did. 

Baz shook his head as he opened his door and immediately startled. Fiona was there, waiting,  _ again _ .

“Don’t you have anything better to do than wait around for me?” Baz griped. Instead of sitting with her, he strode across the room to open his patio doors. Fresh air washed over him, lessening the headache beginning to build behind his temples.

“Oh definitely, but unfortunately, this is my job while we’re here.” Fiona watched him, as he remained standing, still braced against the doors. “How was your meeting?”

“Dreadful,” Baz said immediately. He closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of the garden one last time before turning towards her.

“I hope you have something useful to tell me,” Fiona said, raising her eyebrows.

“Define useful.” Baz sat down in his usual chair. 

“Anything at all to do with the Mage or the crown prince,” Fiona said. Her expression soured as Baz continued to avoid her eyes. “Assuming you did speak to Prince Simon during the three and a half hours you spent with him today.”

“Yes,” Baz said. His headache had returned in force and for reasons he couldn’t explain, his magic had begun to swirl in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed and tried to think of something— anything —useful to say. But his thoughts seemed to betray him. Every beat of his pulse was telling him to stop. 

Because feeding information to Fiona… that was just doubling down on his lies to Simon. He was already the distraction. He didn’t want to play the spy as well— at least not anymore.

“What good will anything I know even do?” Baz asked, trying to keep his tone casual. “The Families have no use in knowing Simon’s favorite food or what color he wants the flower arrangements to be.”

“That is not up to you to decide,” Fiona snapped, her eyes flashing. “Remember, Baz, that information is power.”

“And power is the brick and mortar of Hampshire,” Baz mumbled, automatically reciting the words; the sentiment was drilled into every Hampshirian as they were raised.  _ Potestatem super Omnia _ . The flashback to his upbringing, the coldness he had endured, contrasted so sharply with what he had seen earlier between Simon and Penny that he began to talk. “Prince Simon is good at making friends, it seems.”

“Oh?” Fiona prompted, straightening in her seat.

Baz blinked away the final remnants of his treasonous thoughts and assured himself it wasn’t jealousy that made him want to talk as he said, “He’s very close with Lady Penelope. He described her as his closest friend and I saw them together myself. I have no doubts that what he said is true.”

“Very good,” Fiona said. Her dark pearlescent dress glimmered as she stood. “I’m sure the Families will be glad to know you’re finally getting somewhere. Maybe it will hasten their planning.”

Baz nodded in farewell as she left. As soon as the door snapped shut his stomach began to churn. He couldn’t label the new feeling as anything other than guilt as the hot magic that had fizzled along his bones moments earlier faded. He felt cold without it, and even more lonely. 

Why was Watford filled with light and magic, warmth and kindness? And why was that so appealing to him, when he was raised to thrive on discipline and cold fire? Those questions, bitter and longing, swirled through his mind as the minutes ticked by. Still, his magic did not return to keep him company.

Baz stood, ready to resort to the only other comfort he allowed himself. His violin case had remained unopened after he had pushed it under his bed the first day of his visit. He brought it out to his sitting room and unbuckled the clasps. The top of the case swung open on loaded springs, revealing the rich wood and familiar curves of his instrument.

He had discovered very young that when he played music, he could forget. What had begun as a small, rebellious childhood hobby had turned into much more. He had discovered instruments during one of his family’s vacations to their summer manor. Baz and his sister had snuck out their shared bedroom window to the nearby village, where a roaring bonfire celebration was in progress.

People who didn’t belong to the High Court had no magic, so their celebrations were much less flamboyant than the ones the two royal children were used to and much more joyous. No aesthetic magic clouded the air and no magicians pulled music from the aether. Instead, the canopy of stars was their only decoration and their music was pulled by bows sawing across stringed devices. Instruments, Baz had learned. He was immediately fascinated.

It had taken him a few months before he managed to acquire his own violin, and nobody at court had known how to teach him. There had been sheets of music tucked into moldy books in the dark corners of the library, so Baz had struggled through learning it. Violin had become a method of finding solace, from being the crown prince and all that came with it.

Now, as Baz pulled his violin from its case, the delicate swirling etched on its face and the simple elegance of the bow didn’t seem out of place as it had in Hampshire. Struck by a sudden thought, Baz brought his instrument out onto the patio, where the air was beginning to cool as night fell.

Then, he began to play. The song his bow pulled from between the strings was part memorization of an ancient hymn and part improvisation. Baz felt the stiffness in his spine and shoulders fade as he worked through the familiar arpeggios and sixteenth notes. When the transition between each note felt as easy as breathing, he closed his eyes and began to improvise. His melody began winding and low, slow with moments of quick realization.

Baz exhaled, letting the sadness of the notes go, letting them fade into something easier and relaxed. He smiled to himself as he played a serenade to the memory of the stars he and Simon had created. A serenade to Simon himself, as the notes became intense and unsettled; the rhythm became unpredictable. 

Baz didn’t know how long he had been playing for when he finally reached the last note. He let the vibrations of it fade in the air before opening his eyes. And standing there, as if Baz’s song had summoned him, was Prince Simon. Baz lowered his violin from his shoulder and was faced with the unfamiliar notion of not knowing what to say.

“Was that magic?” Simon asked.

The sound of his voice brought back all of the thoughts that had prompted Baz to get out his violin in the first place. The calm that had settled over Baz while he was playing fizzled away, replaced by a bitter combination of anger, guilt, and jealousy.

“No, Your Highness,” Baz responded, his tone turning the honorific into a jab. “That was just talent.”

Simon seemed undeterred by Baz’s negativity. “The only musicians I’ve ever seen are those who perform here at the court, and they use magic,” Simon explained.

“Well, out there,” Baz gestured at the wall looming at the edge of the gardens, and even beyond it, “Your subjects without magic play instruments like this to create music.” 

“Fascinating,” Simon muttered, still eyeing the violin. “And why do you use it?”

Baz hesitated, but finally sighed and explained, “Because my magic is all fire. And this calms me down in a way that it never can.” 

“I get that,” Simon said, nodding. “I practice swordplay for a similar reason. If we ever go to war I’ll be expected to use my magic to fight, but I wanted to understand what it would be like without magic. And my magic isn’t exactly calming, either.”

“I know,” Baz said quickly. Then he scowled at the small smile twitching at the corners of Simon’s mouth. “What?”

“I just thought you’d be too pretentious to appreciate  _ anything _ that doesn’t require magic.”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Baz snapped. He tried to cross his arms across his chest, but only managed to poke himself in the chest with the bow he was still clutching.

“I was raised without magic at first,” Simon said. When Baz didn’t immediately respond, he continued, “Until I was adopted, of course. Since then, I haven’t seen much of what life is like without magic. And I don’t remember any of the good parts regardless… just the hungry, cold parts. Hearing you play, and knowing that something, I don’t know… something special like that exists in a world where magic isn’t there to fill in the gaps… it’s comforting.”

Baz nodded slowly, his expression slowly loosening. “I’m glad that I could be of service then.” 

He made to go back inside, but Simon called out one last time. “What were you playing?”

Baz turned around and met Simon’s eyes, which were filled with innocent curiosity. “I was making it up as I went.”

“Oh,” Simon murmured.

“It was for the stars,” Baz explained.  _ And for you _ , he added silently. “Goodnight.”

After a pause, Simon echoed him, “Goodnight.”

Baz closed his patio doors and drew the curtains closed. Prince Simon was still standing outside his room when he did so. His expression was indecipherable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it to the end! I hope you liked it and if you did, let me know. Leave a comment, leave a kudos... you know I live to here what you all think. As always, feel free to drop by my tumblr, @owl-girl04, and say hello or leave feedback there as well! I hope you have an amazing week, the next update is hopefully scheduled for next Saturday :)


	5. City Lights and Musical Nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late, but it turns out moving is exhausting... and there's a lot to do. But here I am now, with the next chapter! When I originally planned out this fic, this was the chapter I was most excited to write, and I think it stands up to my own expectations. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it !

Prince Simon was standing in front of the wardrobe in his bedroom when he heard his sitting room doors crash open.

“Simon? Where are you?”

“Penny! I’m not dressed!” Simon exclaimed. He shot a hasty glance over his shoulder to make sure his bedroom door was closed.

“Fine, but hurry up! We don’t want to be late for the town parade.”

Simon repressed a sigh. Parades were Watford’s way of including the commoners in court celebrations. They handed out sweets to the children as courtiers put on small displays of aesthetic magic to impress the onlookers. 

Usually, parades were for some festival or holiday, but this particular town parade was in honor of his and Baz’s engagement; it was a way to raise Watford’s people’s spirits. Parade festivals always meant parties late into the night— parties that, as a prince, he wouldn’t be allowed to attend. The closest he would ever come to Watford’s townspeople was when he would stand atop his float, smiling and waving.

Conscious of Penny’s impatient energy, Simon was quick to select a dark purple— almost black, really — vest and fitted pants, which he tucked into the tops of his tall brown boots. He rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt to his elbows as well, to better combat the smothering heat that had descended earlier that morning.

“Good morning, Penny,” Simon said as he exited his bedroom. His crown was waiting, as were his various ceremonial badges and medallions, on a table near the window.

Penny seemed to float across the room towards him, her green skirt swirling on a magical breeze. Like most courtiers, she had dressed to impress, since she would be a part of the parade procession. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be riding with Simon. He was required to ride the second-to-last float with Prince Baz. The Mage would be on his own float behind them.

“How do you think they’ve decorated the floats this time?” Penny asked. She picked up one of his many badges and pinned it in the proper place as Simon fiddled with his crown.

“Probably with something that fits Baz and I’s whole nighttime magic theme,” Simon replied.

“So he’s just Baz now, is he?” Penny raised an intrigued eyebrow, picking up another medallion.

Simon felt heat rise in his cheeks. “Not to his face,” he insisted.

“Mhm.” Penny stepped back as he turned towards her, ready to protest. “What happened to him being your sworn enemy?”

“He still _is_ my sworn enemy!” Simon exclaimed.

“Yes, you and _Baz_ were just at each other’s throats in our last wedding planning session,” Penny said, her tone full of sarcasm.

Simon turned away hurriedly to inspect his appearance in a nearby mirror. After their first meeting to discuss the wedding, there had been three more sessions. It was becoming increasingly dull; the only mildly interesting topic discussed was the food, which they all were allowed to sample. The only thing that kept Simon going through the dragging hours were the small glances he caught Baz shooting him. 

At first, he had wondered what he was scheming about, but his thoughts began to change track ever so slightly. Soon, he was wondering what Baz was thinking about. Then he was wondering what Baz was thinking about _him_ that meant he kept looking at him. It was very distracting, which was why it was such a relief Penny was there to cover for him whenever he got too lost in thoughts about the other crown prince.

He hadn’t realized Penny had noticed, but of course she had. Penny never missed a thing.

“We should get going,” Penny said when Simon didn’t respond. “Everyone’s meeting near the front gates.”

~

The two made it to the front green quickly, stopping on the castle steps to admire the train of floats waiting to depart. Simon spotted the one meant for him almost immediately. Its wheels and safety railings were smothered by fluffy clouds. Small bouquets of stars were nestled among the white matter every few feet.

“I need to go find my family, but you have fun with your prince!” Penny said, curtsying in farewell.

“Penny! What, no— he’s not—“ Simon stammered, his hands fluttering awkwardly through the air. Penny shot him a cheeky smile over her shoulder and disappeared into the crowd.

After allowing himself a second to calm down, Simon made his way to the cloud float. When he reached it, he was surprised to find Prince Baz sitting pretzel style among the fluff. From a distance, he was completely hidden.

“Uh, hello,” Simon said. He cursed his voice internally as it cracked slightly.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Baz replied, nodding. “Here.” The dark-haired prince stood to offer Simon a hand up onto the float. Simon took it, pointedly ignoring his own rapidly beating heart.

He ducked under the safety bar and found himself very, very close to Prince Baz. Too close. He took a step back and cleared his throat. “So.”

“So,” Baz prompted. The corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Do you remember what time we’re starting? I’ve completely forgotten.”

“Any minute now, surely,” Baz said. He leaned back to rest on the handrail, running a casual hand through his hair. It was then that Simon took in what he was wearing for the first time. Like Simon, he had on a white button-down shirt with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Unlike Simon, he wasn’t wearing a vest over it. Instead, he had the top few buttons undone because of the heat. The silver detailing around his collar matched the swirls of design on his black pants and boots.

Simon looked away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring. His eyes settled on the Mage, who was descending the castle steps towards his own float. As always, he was surrounded by his Men, who would be guarding all of the floats, riding alongside them on horses temporarily magicked to be a rainbow of bright colors.

Once the rest of the court noticed the Mage, the general hullabaloo vanished, replaced by a sense of purpose. The last few float riders boarded, horses were brought to attention, and the front gates swung open.

“Are you excited to see your people?” Baz asked as they waited their turn to roll into motion.

“I should probably be asking you that,” Simon said, “They’ll be _our_ people soon.”

“That’s true,” Baz amended, though he sounded a bit strained.

“This isn’t really a great way to meet them, though,” Simon said.

“What do you mean?” Baz asked. He braced himself alongside Simon as they jerked forward.

“This is… very separate. We’re up here… and they’re down there. It’s—it’s very impersonal.” Simon cringed at his stammering explanation, but Prince Baz nodded in understanding.

“Maybe one day I’ll get the chance to _actually_ meet them, then,” Baz said.

They reached the gates and were immediately assaulted with cheers. Simon waved and smiled and caught blown kisses, moving on autopilot as his thoughts whirled. As the parade route continued through the city his smile became more and more genuine. 

After making their hour-long loop around the city, their float rolled to a halt back inside the palace gates. Simon turned to Baz, his excitement shining in his eyes. “Can you meet me in the garden, tonight after dinner?”

Baz’s eyebrows rose. “Um, sure?”

Simon grinned at him. “Great!” Then, he vaulted over the safety rail to the ground. He needed to find Penny if he wanted to give his new plan any chance for success.

~

“Explain to me again why you’re doing something so nice for the Hampshirian prince… and why I’m helping you,” Penny grumbled when he opened his door to her later that night.

“Did you find them?” Simon asked instead of answering. He ignored her knowing look.

“Yes.” She snapped her fingers and a stack of neatly pressed servant uniforms thumped to the floor between them.

Simon grabbed a set eagerly and dusted off a few remaining aether particles. “You’re the absolute best, Penny.”

“Oh, I know,” Penny said, smiling a little. “But that won’t do you any good without this.” She tapped a shimmering pointer finger on the tip of his nose and nodded. He shivered at the sensation; it was like having a bucket of cold water poured over your head. 

“Disguise magic. It won’t work on any other magician, but nobody without magic will recognize you,” Penny explained.

“Perfect,” Simon said, grinning. He ducked into his bedroom to change and when he emerged, set off with Penny into the gardens. He made sure to grab the extra set of clothes before they left.

“How do you know where he’ll be?” Penny asked.

“Well, I know where his room is, so he’ll probably be—“

“Wait, wait, wait,” Penny interrupted, raising her hands to cut him off. “You know where his room is?”

“I mean, I’ve been there—“

“ _Simon_ ! You’ve _been to his room_?”

“No! No, Penny,” Simon exclaimed, his face heating. He shook his head adamantly and rushed to clarify when she continued to stare at him. “I heard him playing music out on his patio one night, so I stopped to listen.”

“He’s an aether musician?” Penny asked, her brow furrowing. “I wouldn’t have pegged him for the type.”

“No, he has an actual instrument, like the one commoners use. A violin, he said.”

“How odd,” Penny murmured.

Simon nodded as they walked on.

He hesitated at a fork in the road. The night he had followed the sounds of Baz’s music, he hadn’t been paying much attention to which path he was on. He chose the left fork, hoping for the best. His plan didn’t budget any time for getting lost in the dark gardens.

He let out a sigh of relief when they spotted Baz hovering around the next bend.

“Hello, Your Highness,” Penny called out, causing him to jump and turn around.

“Oh,” Baz said, “You’re here too?”

Penny pursed her lips at the comment and Baz hurried to amend himself. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s always a pleasure, Lady Penny.”

“She’s just helping me with the… more delicate aspects of my plan,” Simon explained.

Baz quirked an eyebrow as he looked Simon over for the first time, taking in the servant's clothes and hooded cloak. “And what exactly is your plan?”

Simon grinned. “We’re sneaking into the city.”

Seeing Simon’s excitement, Baz smirked. “Alright.”

~

Half an hour later, Penny had disguised Baz, he had changed into servant clothes, and they had taken a back staircase into the basement kitchens. Simon and Baz had pulled up their hoods in anticipation to sneak out the delivery door, but all of the castle staff had been dismissed early for the night to attend the festivities.

The two princes avoided eye contact with the guards stationed at the back gate, but they weren’t even spared a second glance. Simon still didn’t breathe easily until they had reached the main road, where a festival was in full swing.

“Wow,” Simon murmured. Candles and lamps sent flickering beams of light over groups of partygoers. Music filtered through the air and every square they walked through was filled with dancers. Every now and then, sweet and savory scents from booths selling food and treats permeated the air, making Simon’s mouth water.

The two princes reached a crossroads where a band was playing heartily. Simon spotted a string instrument like the one Baz had been playing, a metallic instrument emitting noises similar to the flourishes played when the Mage walked into a room, and a collection of cylinders a young lady was banging on with a pair of sticks. A small group had clustered around them and a few younger couples had begun to dance.

Baz paused to watch and Simon halted beside him, pushing his hood off to better savor the warm summer night air.

“Do you know what they’re playing?” Simon asked.

Baz tilted his head, considering, and his hood slipped down to rest on his shoulders.“No… it’s too simple to be any piece from Hampshire’s library.”

“I like it,” Simon said, bouncing a bit in place. “It’s joyful.”

“It is,” Baz agreed. After a moment he turned to Simon again. “I think they’re improvising.”

Simon nodded, applauding with the crowd as the song ended.

“Would anyone else like a turn?” the girl who had been hitting the covered cylinders called out to the crowd. A young man who had been standing in the front row stepped forward to take her place. An older woman accepted the metallic instrument.

Simon nudged Baz. “You should play the violin.”

“I hate to break it to you, Your Highness, but that’s not a violin,” Baz muttered back.

Simon’s eyebrows crept upwards. “It isn’t?”

“It’s a fiddle,” Baz explained.

“Well… same difference,” Simon said. Then he waved a hand to get the musicians’ attention and called out, “My friend here will play the fiddle!”

“ _Simon_ ,” Baz hissed. People in the crowd were turning to look at him.

“Perfect.” The fiddle player held out the instrument, waving Baz forward. “Here you are.”

Baz shot Simon a half-glare over his shoulder but stepped forward to accept the fiddle. Simon watched as the new trio of musicians, Baz included, spoke quickly to each other. He saw Baz play a few experimental notes and then nod to the other two.

Then they started playing. Their song was just as joyful as the last; the notes bouncing and playful. The crowd cheered and there was a sudden swarm as people paired up to dance. Simon found himself pushed to the edge of the circle but his gaze remained fixed on Baz.

The other prince’s brow was knotted in concentration and his eyes were shut tight. But his shoulders were relaxed and his arm movements fluid. Simon’s stomach fluttered as he watched the corners of the other prince’s mouth curve upwards into a small smile.

He was so distracted that he jumped when someone tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

Simon turned to find a girl, her practical grey skirt and bodice indicating she was from the city. Her eyes were startlingly blue and sparkled in the lamplight.

“Would you like to dance with me?” she asked, her lashes fluttering.

Simon glanced once over his shoulder at Baz before smiling ruefully. “Sure.”

She grinned and latched onto his arm as they made their way onto the dance floor. Then they were spinning and spinning, surrounded by other laughing couples. Simon couldn’t help but smile along with them at their obvious joy.

“I’m Matilda,” his partner said, her voice raised slightly so he could hear her over the music.

“I’m Simon,” Simon said, raising his arm so she could twirl in place.

“I haven’t seen you around here before, Simon,” Matilda said.

“Oh,” Simon said, scrambling for an excuse, “I work at the castle, so I stay in their servant quarters.”

“So you’re saying I probably won’t see more of you,” Matilda said. She raised an eyebrow as Simon avoided her gaze.

“Probably not.”

“What a shame,” she sighed, her tone genuinely disappointed.

He spun her one last time as the music faded. They applauded together and she nodded politely to him.

“It was nice to meet you, Simon.” He offered her a small smile in return and she disappeared into the crowd.

“Who was that?”

Simon jumped at Prince Baz’s voice. He had appeared, silent as a shadow, by his shoulder. “A city girl named Matilda,” Simon said, turning to face Baz.

“I see.” Baz’s face was schooled blank.

Simon blinked, unsure if he was hearing correctly. Baz’s tone was almost… bitter.

“She asked me to dance,” Simon said. He felt odd, like he needed to explain himself. But that didn’t make sense, because he and Baz weren’t anything. He didn’t _owe_ the other crown prince _anything_.

“Sure,” Baz said, crossing his arms. He avoided Simon’s eyes, choosing instead to observe the dancing that had begun again.

“Your music was really good,” Simon said, biting down nervously on his bottom lip.

“It turns out you were right,” Baz said, finally looking at him. “The fiddle isn’t that different from a violin.”

“Ah,” Simon said, trying his best to think coherently. Baz’s gray eyes were dark and entrancing in the dim lamplight; his skin glowed golden in its warmth.

“Do you want to dance with me?” Baz asked suddenly, breaking the odd trance Simon had fallen into.

“You want to dance?” Simon responded, his eyebrows rising towards his hairline.

“With you, yes,” Baz deadpanned, but his tone didn’t have any bite.

“Um, okay.”

Simon hesitated slightly before leading Baz into the swirling mass of dancers. The song was slow and peaceful, and it had drawn many more pairs into its rhythm. Baz settled his left hand on Simon’s shoulder and lifted their entwined hands upward.

They swayed gently in place, Baz’s face unreadable. Simon was sure he would be able to hear his heart, which seemed about to break through his chest.

“What a mundane way to dance,” Baz murmured, his gaze sliding over the people nearest them.

Simon smiled as he remembered the first time they had danced together, the fire magic that had swirled between them. “This is a bit more relaxing than any court function.”

“Just a bit,” Baz agreed. He smiled a soft, real smile.

Simon felt his stomach flip as his own gaze dipped to Baz’s mouth. The music was building towards its final chorus.

Lifting their entwined hands, Simon allowed Baz to step under and twirl back into place, slightly closer than he had been seconds ago. Both princes’ movements were smooth, the moves drilled into them over years of etiquette lessons. But Simon couldn’t compare any dance with a courtier to dancing with the other crown prince. Dancing with Baz was like a private conversation, a secret shared only between the two of them.

Simon felt himself leaning forward as the music faded. There was a small beat of silence, between music and applause, and Baz’s gaze dropped to Simon’s mouth. 

Sudden clapping sounded around them as couples broke apart and Baz startled, taking a step back. 

Simon felt heat rise into his face as Baz cleared his throat and pulled his hood back up. “We should get back to the castle.”

“We should,” Simon agreed, his voice louder than he originally intended. He followed Baz as the other prince turned up the street towards the castle.

Their moment flashed through his mind again as they traversed the city streets, back towards his real life. He wondered if Prince Baz was feeling the same way, like the freedom and sense of possibility that the city festival provided was disappearing behind them. He wondered if that was why he had asked Simon to dance in the first place. If that was why they had almost kissed.

The thought shot through Simon like a bolt of electricity. Surely, that had been what had happened, but as he watched the back of Baz’s dark silhouette, he wondered if it had perhaps been his own imagination. Perhaps even his own wishful thinking.

Everyone said Prince Baz was supposed to be his enemy, but he definitely wasn’t acting like it.

~

When Simon made it back to his own room, having said a quick farewell to Prince Baz, Penny was waiting on his bed. For once, he felt a bit annoyed to see her. All he wanted to do was to give himself time to think and to run through his night with Baz over and over. All his energy seemed to have disappeared during his walk back to the castle.

“Simon,” Penny said, standing from where she had been waiting on the small sofa. “You’re back late. How did it go?”

Simon shrugged. He wanted, selfishly, to keep the night to himself. Sharing it with Penny would take away from the sense of magical freedom it exuded.

“Well, you missed a messenger while you were out,” Penny said. She dusted off her skirt and came to stand next to him.

“Alright,” Simon said, slinging his cloak off his shoulders. He balled it up and tossed it aside as Penny propped her fists on her hips.

“Don’t you want to hear what he had to say?” Penny frowned at him.

“I’m tired, Penny. I had a long night,” Simon said.

Penny pursed her lips. “That’s all fine and good but—“

“Penny,” Simon interrupted, holding up a hand to stop her. “I really just want to go to bed.”

Penny rolled her eyes but remained stubbornly in his room.

“Fine,” Simon acquiesced, “But make it quick.”

Penny’s eyebrows rose at his tone. “Agatha’s coming back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey, I hope you liked it! If you did, let me know with a kudos or even a comment! All feedback is super duper appreciated! If you want to see more of me, feel free to stop by my tumblr @owl-girl04, and say hello :) Anyway, a huge thank you for making it this far, the next update should be in about a week. If I stick to my original plan, we're on the home stretch (!!!)


	6. Green Feelings and Court Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I adjusted the chapter count because I finally planned out the details of the last chapters, and I realized I left a lot more loose ends to tie up than originally planned. Anyway! I hope you enjoy this update!

“I don’t understand Watford’s inclination to hold a ball for every little thing,” Fiona groused.   
Prince Baz nodded absentmindedly as he escorted her down the corridor toward one of Watford’s smaller ballrooms. A few members of the court had been invited to a welcoming ball for the returning Lady Agatha. Baz and Fiona had received an invitation because of his status as Prince Simon’s fiancé, but he had never even heard of the mysterious Lady returning to court.  
“There are much more productive ways you could be spending your time,” Fiona continued, oblivious to Baz’s preoccupation. “Such as planning for your wedding, and becoming closer to Prince Simon. The Families are nearly ready to make their move, you know.”  
Her comment snapped Baz from his trance. “What?”  
“Oh yes,” Fiona said, “They’re just waiting to settle a few minor details and then their master plan will commence. I highly doubt you’ll be walking down any aisles soon, especially one with a Watford Prince awaiting you at the end.”  
“Fiona,” Baz hissed. He shot a pointed look at the other people walking around them. The closer they got to the ballroom, the more congested the hallways became.  
Fiona’s eyebrows crept towards her hairline. “That’s not the reaction I was expecting from you. How about relief, or even some happy tears?”  
“I’ll be happy in private,” Baz grumbled, “And I wouldn’t hold my breath when it comes to tears.”  
Fiona snorted as they reached a pair of towering oak doors. Two servants held them open for the Hampshirians, nodding politely as they strolled by.  
The room they entered was decorated with arching gold and pale pink streamers. Enchanted flower petals floated delicately through the air just above the guests’ heads. At the center of the room, a girl with ethereal features and shimmering blond hair stood, greeting everyone who walked up to her. Her dress matched perfectly with the decorations; it was a dainty shade of yellow that faded to white as the skirts cascaded to the ground. Pieces of light pink and white lace enhanced the bodice and sleeves. It was very fashionable and extremely ladylike.  
Beside her, Prince Simon stood calmly, his hands clasped behind his back. Baz felt drawn to him and tried to resist the urge to run across the ballroom and say hello. Ever since Simon had brought him into the city, his thoughts had been consumed by the copper-haired prince.   
“That must be Lady Agatha,” Fiona said, interrupting his quickly spiraling thoughts.  
“It would be proper to go over and introduce ourselves,” Baz said, pulling Fiona across the floor towards the awaiting lady.  
“Sometimes I really hate decorum,” Fiona muttered.  
Baz couldn’t help but agree. Decorum was preventing him from dragging Prince Simon out the ballroom and down the hall, where he could kiss him properly, instead of shrinking away as he had after their dance.  
“Hello, Lady Agatha,” Baz said as they stopped in front of her. “I am Crown Prince Baz of Hampshire and this is my aunt, Princess Fiona.”  
“It’s lovely to meet you, Your Highnesses.” Agatha dropped into a perfect curtsy. “What brings you to Watford?”  
“We’ve been here for a few weeks in preparation for Prince Baz’s wedding,” Fiona answered.  
“Oh congratulations,” Agatha said, smiling softly. “Who’s the lucky girl?”  
“Guy, actually,” Baz said, sneaking a glance at Simon. The other prince’s cheeks had flushed bright red. Obviously, he hadn’t shared the big news with his friend yet.  
“Prince Simon, of course,” Fiona said, her tone full of forced cheer.  
“Excuse me?” Agatha’s smile disappeared.  
“Prince Baz and I are engaged in the hopes that it will… improve relations between our countries,” Simon said. He had begun to fidget with the cuffs of his sleeves.  
Baz looked back at Agatha and saw her expression had been wiped blank.  
“Excuse me, Your Highnesses,” she said, “But I need to go check my hair.” She turned on her heel and exited through the nearest set of doors.  
Simon turned to watch her leave. “That didn’t go so well.”  
“I’m afraid not,” Baz agreed.  
“I’m going to go check on her. Enjoy the party.” Simon left, leaving Baz and Fiona alone.  
“I had wondered how that would go over,” Fiona said, repressing a smirk as she watched Simon dash for the door.  
“What are you talking about?” Baz crossed his arms and turned to face her.  
“I thought you knew,” Fiona said. When his expression didn’t change she continued, “Simon and Agatha used to be engaged.”  
Baz felt his aloof expression falter. “What?”  
“When Simon was adopted, it was decided that he would be married to her when he came of age.” Fiona tucked her hands behind her back as he processed.  
“It was an arranged marriage?” Baz’s eyebrows furrowed.  
“Yes but they were reportedly in love,” Fiona explained. “Then when it became apparent that Agatha didn’t have much magical power, the Mage and the rest of the court no longer felt she would be suitable. But they were still going to go through with it until Agatha broke it off with Simon and left for finishing school.”  
“How do you know all of this?” Baz asked, shaking his head.  
“The court talks.” She shrugged. “And I’m not so caught up in my own head that I forget to pay attention.”  
Baz ignored the jab and made his way toward the edge of the room. The music was about to start up and he didn’t feel like getting caught on the dance floor by some ambitious Watfordian lord or lady.  
Simon and Agatha still hadn’t returned to the ballroom and he didn’t see any other familiar faces. Fiona’s news had triggered a new surge of dark emotions. He knew exactly what his problem was, too. He was jealous of Agatha. She and Simon had obviously been close, closer than Baz could ever hope to be with the other crown prince. And the way Simon had run after Agatha, he most likely still loved Agatha to some degree.   
At that thought, Baz started walking towards the nearest exit. He couldn’t trust himself to not snap at whoever next spoke to him, not when he was feeling so bitter.   
The doors he had chosen led out to a back hallway, which wrapped around the entire ballroom and eventually met up with the main corridor. Baz was rounding the corner when he stopped short; two people were having a conversation right around the bend.  
“I can’t find her, Penny. I’m getting worried.”  
“She probably just wants some space. This is just as hard for you as it is for her.”  
The first voice belonged to Prince Simon. Baz hesitated briefly before pressing himself against the wall and inching closer to them.  
“I need to make it up to her somehow,” Simon said, his tone despairing. “Maybe I can invite her for a ride tomorrow.”  
“Simon,” Penny said, “Really? How do you that will look to the court?”  
“What?”  
“You’re engaged, Simon. You can’t be running off having one on one time with girls. Or boys, for that matter!”  
“I’m alone with you all the time,” Simon protested.  
“Well that’s different,” Penny insisted, “We’ve never been engaged.”  
There was a brief pause as Simon considered.  
“I could invite you along.”  
“And I would say no because my family is going to the court seamstress tomorrow for fittings.”  
There was another pause. As Baz waited, he gathered his magic, letting it slide over his skin in a protective layer. A heartbeat later, he ducked around the corner, completely invisible.  
Penny and Simon were facing each other, her with her eyebrows raised and arms crossed, him clenching and unclenching his fists by his sides.  
“I could… invite Baz,” Simon said finally.  
Baz halted three steps away at the sound of his name. The other prince had addressed him so informally… like they were friends. Reminding himself that he was supposed to be convincing Simon they were friends, Baz proceeded down the hallway before he heard Penny respond.  
He released his magic once they were out of sight and went to his room, unable to forget the sound of his name spoken by the other crown prince. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had considered someone to be his friend, pretend or otherwise.

~

The next day, a messenger arrived at his door with Simon’s invitation. Baz did his best to seem pleasantly surprised as the boy nervously relayed the meeting time and location.  
Baz changed into a pair of riding breeches and tall boots and selected his only short-sleeved shirt. If he was going to be outside, he was going to do his best not to melt. A quick glance out his window was all he needed to confirm his suspicions. The sky was blue and cloudless, meaning there would be no respite from the heat.  
Baz made a split-second decision to leave his crown behind, and after one step out the door, pulled the longer strands of his dark hair back into a messy bun. It was the most casual he had allowed himself to be since arriving at Watford, and he hoped it would put Lady Agatha at ease.  
The stables were located on the back side of the castle. The long, low building was settled against a forest backdrop, with pastures rolling out beside it to the left and right. Baz found the entrance easily enough and realized he was the first to arrive.  
A dark bay mare with a white star on her forehead poked her head eagerly into the aisle as he passed by. Smiling a bit, he stopped to scratch along the crest of her mane.   
“Why hello there,” Baz paused to read the name etched into the silvery plate on her door, “Hickory. It’s nice to meet you.”  
Hickory snuffled his other hand, inspecting him shamelessly for treats.  
“Prince Baz?”  
Baz turned to find Agatha standing behind him, dressed stylishly in a short riding skirt and long breeches. Her top was blindingly white, something Baz would never have thought to wear to a barn. Whenever he spent time around horses, he tended to get dirty.  
He realized she was still looking at him expectantly, waiting for a greeting. “Hello, Lady Agatha.”  
She curtsied, the motion stiffer and shallower than last night’s. “I didn’t realize you’d be joining us.”  
“I hope it’s alright,” Simon said, coming from behind her. He froze for a second when he spotted Baz; his eyes traced over the other prince’s figure. Simon managed a slightly strained, “Hello, Your Highness.”  
“Good morning,” Baz greeted, suppressing a smile.  
Simon cleared his throat as a few stablehands appeared, their backs bent under the weight of three sets of tack.  
“I see you’ve already met Hickory,” Simon said, nodding towards the dark mare.  
“She seems quite sweet,” Baz remarked.  
“She is.” Agatha pushed past Baz to grab Hickory’s halter. “I trained her myself.”  
Baz took a step back to give her some room. He watched as two other horses, one chestnut and one gray, were led out of their stalls as well. Agatha brushed Hickory herself, but Simon and Baz allowed a pair of very insistent stablehands to groom their horses.  
While they waited, Baz stood beside Simon, feeling slightly awkward. It was the first time they had the opportunity to make conversation since their almost-kiss and Baz didn’t have a clue what to say. He settled on the first topic that came to mind.  
“So, you and Agatha used to be engaged?”  
Simon’s gaze snapped to him, his ears already pinking. “Who told you?”  
“The court talks,” Baz deadpanned.  
“Well, that was ages ago,” Simon said. “Agatha and I are just good friends now.”  
“So you’re saying I don’t have anything to worry about?”  
Simon choked a little before he saw Baz’s smirk. “Don’t be a tease.”  
At that, Baz let his grin turn into a full smile.  
“Your Highnesses, your horses are ready,” one of the stablehands called. He held out the reigns of the gray horse to Baz, and said, “This here is Silvermond. She’ll be real nice for you.”  
Baz nodded in thanks and led his mare outside, where Agatha was using the mounting block. Not wanting to wait, Baz checked the length of his stirrups and slipped his foot into the left one, launching himself into place after a quick bounce for momentum.  
He patted Silvermond reassuringly and let her have a loose reign as Simon walked up beside him, already in place on his horse’s back.  
“I didn’t know you rode.”  
“I’m a prince,” Baz responded drily, “I have to know how to do lots of things.”  
Simon rolled his eyes a little, but he was smiling. “Where to, Agatha?”  
“Actually, I was hoping to get some jumping practice today,” Agatha said. She arranged her skirt neatly across the saddle. She wasn’t riding side-saddle, which was odd for a girl, but as she led them to a field filled with jumps, Baz realized she was a much better rider than he could ever hope to be.  
After a quick warmup, Simon and Baz waited in the center of the arena as Agatha schooled Hickory over a series of bounce poles, a few crossrails, and then a very imposing oxer and vertical combination.  
“I hope she doesn’t expect us to do that,” Baz muttered to Simon.  
“Agatha learned all about equestrian sports during her time at school. She was telling me about it while we walked to the stables,” Simon explained.  
“I thought jumping like this was for circuses.” Baz reached forward to scratch under Silvermond’s mane.  
“Up north it’s growing into a whole sport.”  
Agatha cantered past, close enough that Silvermond shied backward a step. Three beats later and Hickory was up and over a four foot vertical, her front legs tucked up prettily.  
“I’ll stick to more simple stuff,” Baz said.  
“As will I,” Simon agreed.  
For the next hour, Agatha managed to coax Simon over a few trot poles, and Baz, not wanting to be outdone, allowed Silvermond to pop over a small crossrail.  
“Well done,” Simon said as Baz brought his mare to a halt.  
“Your form was sloppy,” Agatha interjected, her tone flat. “You need to keep your legs tighter to her sides and you need to release her mouth more as you go over. Poor Silvermond will be tripping over the jump if you hold her back so much.”  
“It wasn’t all bad,” Simon countered. “I’ve definitely done worse. Remember the time I tried to jump a log on the forest trail, Agatha.”  
She pursed her lips, but Baz could tell she was trying not to smile. “It was a downhill approach and your poor horse completely misjudged the distance.”  
“He refused to jump at the last minute and I ended up sitting on his neck instead of the saddle,” Simon added, smiling good-naturedly.   
“You were so reckless when you were younger,” Agatha said, “And every time you got worked up your magic would come sparking out! I remember you were so embarrassed during your twelfth birthday when some court girl gave you a kiss on the cheek as a present, and your shoes caught fire.” She laughed, the sound tinkling and pure.  
Baz smiled, picturing it easily.  
“I miss the good old days,” Agatha sighed, turning to meet Simon’s eyes.  
Baz turned to look at the other prince too and was surprised to find him staring back. Simon’s expression was indiscernible, but his eyes seemed almost sad. The silence between the three of them stretched.  
“Simon?” Agatha looked between the two princes curiously.  
Simon pressed his lips together and turned back towards her. “I just remembered, the Mage asked me to come to his office this afternoon. I better get going so I can change before I have to meet him.”  
“Oh… alright,” Agatha said. She pulled back on her reigns, turning Hickory back towards the course of jumps. “I’ll probably work with Hickory a bit more yet.”   
Simon smiled, but Baz noticed he didn’t meet her eyes as she set off at a canter. “See you around, Agatha. Baz are you staying?”  
Simon froze, his horse halting mid-step. “I— I mean, Prince, er, Your Highness—“  
Baz cut him off before his face could get any redder. “Baz is fine, so long as I can call you Simon.”  
“Yeah, I mean, yes! Yes, of course.” Simon kicked his horse back into motion and Baz followed him.  
When they reached the stable, they dismounted and handed off their horses to awaiting servants. Baz pulled the tie out of his hair and ran a hand through it. They hadn’t done much work, but he was still sweaty from the bright sun.  
“Hey… Baz,” Simon said, calling him over, “Can I show you something?”  
“Of course.” Baz followed the other prince around the corner of the stables, to a small path between the wooden walls and the forest. “Is this it?”  
“Well, I wanted to ask you something, actually, but not with a bunch of staff running around us.” Simon began to fidget, his fingers tracing along the seams of his riding pants.  
“Alright,” Baz said, crossing his arms over his chest.  
Simon took a deep breath. “I was wondering… was I imagining it… what happened when we were dancing?”  
Baz’s arms dropped back to his sides. He really needed to get used to Simon being forward with him. “Imagining what, exactly?”  
Simon’s face fell, but he managed to hide it a split second later. “Just forget it, I was being silly—“  
Baz held up a hand to stop him. After a second of hesitation, that same hand came forward to rest against Simon’s cheek. Baz searched Simon’s face as he leaned forward, watching as Simon’s eyelids fluttered shut. Then they were kissing.  
It was exactly how Baz had imagined it would be; it was like they were dancing. An intimate conversation, an exchange of emotions. Simon leaned forward into him as Baz brought his other hand up to push against Simon’s chest. The other prince brought his hands up to twist in Baz’s hair as he stumbled back against the stable wall with a small thud.  
Behind the wall, a horse nickered, loud enough to break through Baz’s haze of messy thoughts. He pulled back, just far enough to look into Simon’s eyes; their noses still touched. The other prince inhaled deeply, his blue eyes darting up to meet Baz’s. Something twisted in Baz’s gut as real-life came rushing back.  
Simon opened his mouth to speak but Baz interrupted him. “This probably isn’t the best time… or place.”  
“What do you mean?” Simon asked, his brow furrowing.  
Baz forced himself to pull away. “It isn’t proper.”  
“We’re engaged,” Simon pointed out, pushing off the wall.  
“I have a meeting with Fiona,” Baz fibbed, straightening his shirt.  
“Wait, Baz—“ Simon began, but the other crown prince was already walking away.  
“I’ll see you later, Simon.”

~

Five minutes later, Baz paced across his room, his mind whirling. He had just kissed the crown prince of Watford— the place he had been sent to infiltrate and destabilize so his country could invade. What he was doing— what he was thinking and wanting and had just done —was treason.  
Baz raked a hand over his face. He couldn’t deny that he was attracted to Simon, and now Simon knew. What he wanted to keep denying was that he cared about more than just Simon; he cared about Watford as well. Watford was full of happy memories for every new person he met. It was all light and magic, a place where even the peasants seemed to lead fulfilling lives.  
And his family wanted it. Hampshire saw all that light and happiness and mistook it for weakness. Baz passed into his bedroom and threw himself onto his bed.  
He loved Watford, and even worse, he was beginning to love its prince. He knew it was his duty to stand aside and let the Families do… whatever it was they were planning to do to the Mage. He just didn’t know how he would survive putting Simon— and Watford —through whatever suffering he knew was about to occur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, you made it! I hope you liked it ;) Poor Baz, he has it worst in this story... but don't worry, I promise there's a happy ending. If you enjoyed, let me know! Leave and comment, leave a kudos, or even stop by my Tumblr @owl-girl04 to say hello!


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